How Different It Is
by DaVinci13
Summary: GS. Grissom's life is turned upside down when he is the unwilling victim in a crime and suddenly he's forced to try and make sense of the fear and anger that haunts him afterwards.
1. Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday

"Get down, or I'll blow you away." The words were spoken softly, and the voice was deadly. Grissom gritted his teeth as the cold hard steel of the gun muzzle was pressed against his temple, and he slowly lowered himself to the ground, grimacing as his knees protested violently.

He was suddenly enveloped in the sounds of the small store, the sights, the feelings, and the smells as the adrenaline pumping through him heightened his senses. The harsh, fearful breathing of the woman, the man, and the young child next to him assaulted his ears, and beyond that the droning of the freezer at the back of the store.

He could smell the sweat emanating from the robber.

The gun pressed against his temple was felt with his whole body; the cold hardness of it, the perfect circle formed by the muzzle opening. Was it good or bad that the hand that held the gun was steady? _Good,_ he told himself. _It means he won't panic at the slightest sound or movement and shoot you on accident. _He smiled ironically, humourlessly, at that. _Right. He won't shoot you on accident; he'll do it on purpose._

"All right," the robber announced, pulling back from Grissom. "If you do what we tell you, none of you will get hurt."

_Classic,_ Grissom thought, careful to keep his eyes lowered. He didn't want to give them the impression he was trying to memorize faces. _You only need a glance, Gil, _he told himself. _Just one glance; you're the best CSI in Vegas. You're the best in Nevada, for God's sake. One glance is all you need. You aren't going to let a seventeen-year-old juvenile delinquent push you around, are you? _

He kept up the running commentary inside his head, minimizing and diminishing the threat by finding humour in it; it was the only thing keeping him sane.

It had only been five minutes since he had walked into the small convenience store. All he had wanted was to pick up some beer for Nick's party, and get the hell out. He hadn't even wanted to be at the party. He had only agreed to go because Catherine wouldn't get off his back; he had only agreed to pick up some more beer because he thought it would be a convenient way to stall. The fact that the party was for him – a 'surprise' birthday party – didn't make the idea of going any more fun.

Now, as he listened to the sounds of a safe being broken into, and money and stolen goods being stuffed into some type of bag, he thought about what he would give to be at that party right now. _Happy birthday, Gil,_ he thought bitterly.

* * *

"He's probably stalling," Catherine sighed irritably as she lounged on Nick's couch, watching as the Texan paced. Every once in whileNick wouldglance out the window. The rest of the graveyard shift sat around the apartment talking quietly, along with Greg Sanders, Doc Robbins, and Jim Brass. Every once in a while they would glance up and watch amusedly as the two friends went at it. 

"It's his birthday, for God's sake," Nick snapped. "It's his birthday _party_! Why would he stall?"

"Uh, hmmm, let's see," Catherine said sarcastically. "Because he doesn't know it's his _birthday_ party. It's a surprise, remember? And do you know how long it took me to convince him to come?"

"Catherine," Nick said, with a raised eyebrow. "The guy's supposedly a genius. You think he won't put two and two together? A party, with us, on his birthday?"

"Nick," Catherine imitated him, "The guy's supposedly a genius _scientist._ He _won't_ put two and two together. He's probably forgotten it's his birthday."

Nick gave an exasperated sigh and threw up his arms. "Whatever," he exclaimed. "So what if he skips out completely? He hates parties. Even if he does figure out it's for him, he still won't like it."

Catherine gave an evil grin. "He won't skip out on it. I made sure of that."

From the other end of the sofa, Jim Brass chuckled. "I'm sure you did, Cath," he said. When she just smiled, and glanced at Nick again, he ran a finger across his throat suggestively.

Nick burst out laughing.

* * *

At the grocery store, Grissom tried to work out how long it had been. More than eight minutes. Less than ten minutes. And for at least the past two minutes the robber had lounged in a chair in front of his captives, eyeing them idly, when he could have been gone and away. Grissom could feel cold eyes boring into his back. C_old eyes, cold gun, cold floor; I guess Vegas isn't always hot as hell. _He gritted his teeth again. _But God do I wish it was warmer in here._

He was jerked from his thoughts as the robber finally spoke, and Grissom added _'cold voice'_ to his list.

"Maybe I lied," the robber said, sounding amused with something. "How rude of me. I guess I should have told you the truth at the beginning but you know... I've always been a liar."

The gunshot drowned out the screams of the little boy and the woman as the man beside them was blown backwards, and his blood sprayed over them all. Grissom's head jerked up, but no sound escaped his lips as watched in horror.

_Do something!_ his mind screamed, but he couldn't move. He couldn't speak. And the child was shot next as his mother tried desperately to save him. And then the gun was pointed at Grissom.

He was already covered with the blood from the other victims, who lay sprawled on the floor behind him, and he felt something in himself die as he rubbed desperately at his skin, trying to clean himself.

"Hope you enjoyed my company," the robber said, an amused smile gracing his features, though it didn't reach his eyes. His finger started to move on the trigger.

_Squeezing, not pulling, _Grissom thought.

It was then that it really sank in. Grissom stared blankly down that cold, dark tunnel. There was no light at the end. And he suddenly felt a surge of fury race through him, fury with himself, for not helping those other victims, and with the robber, for bringing this on him and the other victims.

"Son of a bitch," he swore, lunging up from the floor. His body slammed against the robber's and the gun went off into the ceiling.

"What the..." The robber's face contorted with rage and fear as Grissom got a hand on the weapon.

It went off again, and this time Grissom felt a sharp burning in his side, and hegasped as he realized he'd been hit. The robber, seeing the look on his face and realizing what had happened, swung his free hand and slammed it against the wound. Black lines raced across Grissom's eyes, and he heard a roaring in his ears as his knees buckled.

"No!" he screamed, and his hand closed on the gun once again as he tried to drag the robber down with him. The robber, however, retained his balance, and Grissom grunted in pain as a steel-clad toe slammed into him. He felt something snap in his chest, and he could barely contain a scream as blows continued to rain down on him.

_The trigger,_ he thought hazily. _Where's the Goddamn trigger? _

_Right where it always is,_ the voice in his head whispered, and his finger groped around for it. He found it then, and he nearly passed out from relief as the thought ran through his brain that at least the gun was already pointed where he needed it to be. _Squeeze; don't pull._The sound ofthe gunshotfilled the room.

The robber staggered backwards, losing his grip on the gun as he stared down at the red stain spreading over his chest; the look on his face was one ofdumb shock. "What..." he slurred, and then his knees buckled, and he slumped to the ground.

Grissom lay still for a long moment staring at the ceiling, his body pressed against the cold floor as pain rushed through him in incessant waves. The gun lay forgotten at his side.

Finally, he stirred, and his right hand slid hesitantly over his body as he tried to remember where exactly he'd been shot.

He couldn't contain a groan of pain as he came in contact with his chest. _Broken ribs for sure,_ he thought as he grimaced, and continued down to his stomach, more slowly now.

He found the gun wound just above his right hip, and he pressed his hand to it dazedly.It wasn't too bad – the bullet had only grazed his side, and the bleeding was already slowing.

It took him a moment to collect himself again, and then one word ran through Grissom's brain. _Phone._

Pushing away the pain and the haze that was enveloping him, Grissom racked his brain as he tried to remember where the phone was. _On the back counter, _he thought.

Gritting his teeth, Grissom lifted his head up. With a trembling hand, he took a hold on the shelf just above him, and pulled himself up. He was forced to wait a few minutes while the nausea passed, and then he slowly made his way over to the counter, and the phone.

By the time he reached it, he was panting heavily, and it was sending waves of intense pain through his chest. Grabbing at the phone, he slid weakly to the ground. It took him three tries to dial 911 as the numbers blurred in front of him.

He gave a groan of relief as the operator picked up. "It's Gil Grissom," he gasped, trying to focus. "Supervisor... Vegas Crime... Crime Lab. Shooting... ambulance... police. Grocery store..."

Grissom frowned and gritted his teeth as he tried to remember where he was, or at least what the grocery store was called.

The operator was speaking to him, but he couldn't make outthe words. "Ricky's, or Rick's, or something," he mumbled into the phone. "Dunno where... can't remember... supposed to pick up some beer... for Nicky's party. Damn it... Catherine's gonna kill me..."

It was his last thought as he lost his fight for consciousness.

* * *

Catherine herself was beginning to wonder whether Grissom had, indeed, skipped out on the party, but she wasn't worried until suddenly Brass' cell phone rang. 

The police captain groaned as he answered it. "Brass... what... _Ecklie?_.. No, I'm not pleased to hear from you... What? Is he all right? What happened?.. Shit, Conrad, what the hell... I'll be right down... Yes, they'll be there with me... they won't touch your God damn crime scene... he's their friend, and he... you ass hole!"

The other occupants of the room were completely focused now, faces pale as they waited expectantly.

"Yeah, well, deal with it!" Brass bellowed into the phone finally, as he hung up. His face was white. "A holdup went bad over by Grissom's place. He was there."

The room was suddenly dead quiet as everyone sat, stunned.

"What?" Sara finally forced out, the colour drained from her face. She swayed uncertainly where she stood, staring at Brass with wide, terrified eyes. "Is he...?"

Brass felt his chest tighten. "No," he reassured her frantically, suddenly realizing how his words must have sounded. He grabbed Sara's arm to steady her. "No," he repeated, more calmly now. "He's gonna be all right. He'll be fine. We need to get down there."

* * *

The first things Grissom realized as he came around were that he was once again lying on his back, and people were touching him. It _hurt._

"Screw off," he said, his voice slurred, and his gaze slightly unfocused. He pushed weakly at the hands. "That hurts, goddamn it."

The paramedic glanced up at him. "It's going to hurt for a while, Mr. Grissom. You've broken a few ribs, and your side will need to be bandaged, but nothing life-threatening. Just stay still; we'll take care of you."

"You better do as she says, Gil."

Grissom gritted his teeth as he heard the voice. He was distracted almost immediately though as the paramedic's hands brushed over his chest again, and an intense wave of pain ripped through him. For a moment he thought he'd pass out again.

He bit back a harsh moan.

"Just take it easy, Gil, we can talk later," Conrad Ecklie informed him, and then he turned to return to his crime scene.

"God damn it, wait," Grissom spat, recovering momentarily. He tried to sit up, but the pain and the paramedic forced him back.

He found himself panting for breath again, his mouth slightly open as his chest heaved painfully. Ecklie had turned when Grissom called, and Grissom wasn't surprised to see the annoyance on the dayshift supervisor's face.

"Call Catherine," he gasped.

"I've already phoned Captain Brass," Ecklie said coolly. "He and your team will be in shortly."

Grissom was unable to contain a sigh of relief as he let himself relax. "All right," he said tiredly; he couldn't bring himself to say thank-you to the man. As Ecklie turned and disappeared around the counter, Grissom's eyes drifted to stare at the off-white ceiling. "Seem to spend a hell of a lot of time staring at the ceiling these days," he mumbled quietly to himself.

The paramedic, hearing him, gave him a wry smile. "And you'll probably be spending a few more days doing just that," she told him apologetically. "At least your injuries weren't worse."

_At least,_ Grissom thought, sudden feelingsickonce more as he saw it all in his headagain, and the gunshots and screams echoed in his brain. _You could have saved them,_ he told himself bitterly,_ if you had only been quicker._

A few minutes later Grissom was transferred from the floor to the gurney – not at all gently, fromas far as he was concerned, and he had to grit his teeth to stop from crying out.

"Aren't you trained to do this carefully?" he hissed sharply through his teeth as he fought to control the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.

One of the paramedics – a certain Hank Peddigrew, as Grissom had noted with disgust – gave him a look.

"Just relax, Mr. Grissom," the man said irritably. "You'll be fine."

Grissom didn't reply, as suddenly the loud screeching of tires and the smell of burnt rubber cut through the air.

"The cavalry has arrived," Conrad Ecklie said icily from where he stood at the doorway.

Grissom was going to reply, but at that moment the gurney he was strapped to was lifted down off the curb, and he let out a barely audible groan of pain as his chest protested violently to the move.

"All right, Mr. Grissom?" one of the paramedics asked, giving him a smile.

"Fine," Grissom replied curtly, as he closed his eyes tightly against the bright Vegas sun.

"We'll get you to the hospital, and then..."

Hank was interrupted suddenly as Catherine came barreling up, the team racing a half-length behind her.

"Grissom!" she screamed when she saw him.

"Hey," Grissom said, squinting up at her tiredly. God, it was good to see them.

"Oh my God, Grissom," Catherine grabbed his hand, and her eyes filled with tears. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm all right Cath, honestly," he murmured, trying to reassure her as he felt a heavy exhaustion beginning to take over his body. "Just a few broken ribs... some bruises."

"Damn it, Grissom," Nick cried. "Why couldn't you just get the beer at another store? You _had_ to pick this one, didn't you?"

Grissom chuckled softly at the younger man's exasperated words and then grimaced, and let out a moan. "Nick," he gasped, "don't make me laugh."

"Sorry," Nick apologized weakly. "You just scared me."

"You scared all of us," Warrick confirmed, trying and failing to smile. He had been terrified when he had heard what had happened, but he hadn't shown it. Now he was finding it hard to bounce back from the awful place he had been when he thought Grissom was dead.

"Speak for yourself," Brass muttered in response to Warrick's words. "He's too damn ornery to let himself get killed that easy."

"Thanks, Jim, glad you were worried," Grissom murmured tiredly as his eyes closed involuntarily, and he slipped into sleep. The last thing he saw before drifting off was Sara, her tear-filled eyes focused on his, the worry and pain obvious in them. _I'm all right, Sara,_ he thought. He wanted to say it, wanted to make sure she knew he was all right, but the blackness engulfed him and he lost himself in it.

* * *

"He'll be all right," the doctor told Catherine and the rest of the team later as they stood outside Grissom's room. "He lost a bit of blood, but the gunshot wound and the ribs should heal nicely. As far as physical wounds are concerned, we'll keep him a couple of days, then he'll be home free. So that's not your main concern." The look he and Catherine exchanged was loaded with meaning, and not a single person in the group misread it. 

"How bad will it be?" Greg asked nervously, suddenly feeling way out of his depth.

The doctor glanced at the lab tech and shrugged as he shook his head. "There's really no perfect way to tell. He could be fine, for all I know. It might not have any affect on him at all. But chances are good he'll need to see someone about it."

"Grissom's gonna have to see a shrink?" Nick asked, looking upset. "He's going to be so pissed when he hears that."

The doctor shook his head. "Not necessarily. But I would recommend it. And when he gets back to work, watch him, especially at crime scenes. In your line of work, there are millions of things that could trigger a flashback or a panic attack."

When the doctor left them, they quietly entered the sleeping Grissom's room and took up their places around his bed. Catherine and Sara sat on either side, each holding one of his hands. Sara was a bit more hesitant than Catherine, but in the end she couldn't help herself.

"He'll be all right, won't he?" Greg said nervously, wondering if he was the only one that was worried, hoping they would understand what he was asking.

He felt his stomach turn over as Catherine glanced at him sadly. "Who knows, Greg," she said quietly, so as not to wake Grissom. "With Grissom, who knows?"


	2. Chapter 2: Blood and Memories

Chapter 2: Blood and Memories

When Grissom finally returned to the lab three weeks later, he felt like he was on display. As he walked down the hall, heads turned to stare; when he met their eyes they looked away quickly.

He couldn't make it to his office fast enough, and as soon as he was there he closed the door behind him and sank into his chair with a groan of relief. His ribs were still sore, and every movement caused them to ache even more.

His doctor had said he should take at least another week off, but he couldn't bear the thought of being stuck alone in his townhouse for seven more days, his only company the screams of the other victims and the echoing sounds of the gunshots that had killed them.

Grissom had hoped that he could just forget about everything as soon as the case had been taken care of and he had answered everyone's questions, but no such luck. Ecklie had wrapped up the case within a day, and Grissom had been cleared to return to work, but still the memories remained.

Sleeping was worse than being awake. When he slept, the images were added to the sounds, and the whole scene played over and over again in his head like some freakish horror movie until he woke up screaming, soaked in sweat, his ribs aching fiercely and his side on fire.

The stress had also caused his migraines to increase in size and frequency. Now he had one nearly every day. He had lost weight, and had developed the nervous habit of bouncing his knee up and down when he was sitting down.

He hadn't told anyone about the nightmares, the voices or the migraines. Not even Catherine. He just couldn't bring himself to say it, because then they would be all over him, dissecting his personal life the way Doc Robbins dissected bodies. And that was one thing he would never tolerate. One thing he would never be able to handle.

So he was silent. He spent his days and nights sitting on his couch watching TV, until he knew as much about birds as Nick did, and the stats from every baseball game in those three weeks were burned into his brain.

When the screaming became too much he would repeat the English and Latin names of every bug he could think of out loud. Until he could get back to his best distraction - work – bugs and baseball stats would have to do the trick.

He had received visits from Ecklie, who had investigated the shooting, and a shrink thatCavallo had sent especially for him. Grissom felt sick at the thought of talking to the man, and even worse when he learned that it wasthe lab director who had personally asked for this, but that feeling was at least partially dispelled when the counselor only required one visit. He was gone before his two hours were up, and Grissom gave himself a pat on the back. _Maybe you should have been an actor,_ he thought darkly.

Now all he had to do was convince his team – and himself - that he was all right.

He was pulled out of his reverie suddenly as his office door came crashing open and Catherine stormed into the room. Grissom could see the rest of his team hovering anxiously around the doorway, watching.

"What the hell are you doing here, Gil?" Catherine snapped, slamming her fist down on his desk.

Grissom jumped, and then bit his tongue to stop from groaning as his ribs protested violently. "Work," he said tightly. "I'm doing my job."

"Your doctor said at least four weeks. It's only been three. And you look exhausted; have you been having problems sleeping?"

Inwardly, Grissom froze at her mention of his apparent exhaustion and he eyed her silently for a moment as he collected himself. Even when she was really pissed at him, she generally didn't rag on him in front of the rest of the team. This wasn't like her. But then, everything was different now, no matter what he wanted to believe.

"I've been cleared," he finally pointed out. He lifted his eyebrow at her as though he was slightly amused by the situation, instead of terrified that she was going to pursue the subject of his sleeping habits. He was also afraid that she would find some technicality that she could use to force him to go home.

There was no way he could tell her the real reason he was here – that he _needed _to be here. That if he wasn't here, distracting himself, he would go crazy listening to dead people screaming for his help.

"Don't you give me that look," she growled. "You are not..."

"I am, Catherine, whether you like it or not," he replied firmly, standing and making his way gingerly around the desk as he picked up the assignment slips.

She began to say something else, but he once again cut her off, and that was that.

"Warrick, Catherine," he said, feeling a sense of peace rush through him as he fell into the familiar routine. "You've got a DB out by Lake Mead. Nicky, Sara, B&E."

Nick sighed. "There isn't by any chance a dead body attached to that?"

Grissom smiled apologetically. "No, sorry." Then he glanced around the group. "Where's Greg?"

For a moment there was dead silence as the team just stared at him. "Will someone please answer the question?" Grissom spoke irritably. "I thought he was helping out while I was gone."

"Well you're here now," Catherine said. "When he heard, he got himself back to his lab quick."

Grissom gritted his teeth at her tone of voice, but let it slide with a terse "thanks," for the information. He wasn't ready to get into it with her yet.

When none of them moved, his frown deepened. "I'd really like to get some work done tonight," he snapped.

"Whatever, man," Warrick muttered, and he and Nick disappeared around the corner quickly. Catherine followed after, but the look in her eye told Grissom she knew what he was doing, and that she would deal with him later.

Greg did respect Grissom, but he also feared him on some level. If Grissom wanted to work with someone who wouldn't ask personal questions, Greg was the one to go with.

Finally, Grissom was left standing alone in his office with Sara. The room was thick with tension, and Sara shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans self-consciously. "You... all right?" she asked softly.

The surprise and pain in Grissom's eyes was obvious for a second, but then it disappeared, to be replaced with a sharp annoyance. "I'm fine," he said harshly, and Sara lowered her head and shrugged.

"All right," she murmured, before turning and striding out of the office.

For a long moment Grissom could only stand and stare after her. He'd screwed up again. With a groan, he set off to find Greg.

* * *

Greg was in his lab, just the way Catherine had said he would be, music playing loudly in the background, a magazine open in front of him. 

Grissom turned off the music.

"Hey, damn you..." Greg trailed off when he saw who it was. "Oh, Grissom," he said nervously. "I didn't know it was you. Sorry, about that."

Grissom frowned at the sputtered apology. He had thought Greg would treat him the same as always, but now even he was acting weird. It irritated Grissom, and even made him angry on some level.

"Don't apologize, Greg," he snapped. "Just get a kit and meet me at my Tahoe in five minutes. You're driving."

As he made his way down the hall, he could hear Greg shouting in excitement behind him, and he couldn't help but smile a bit.

His small grin disappeared almost immediately, though, when he suddenly Greg's shouts were overshadowed by the sound of the robberyelling at the little boy to get on the floor. Grissom breathed in sharply at the sudden pain in his head. For a minute he sagged against the wall tiredly, hisface buried in his hand. Why did everything remind him of that? Why couldn't he just forget it all?

"Grissom?" It was Archie, looking worried.

Grissom gave the tech what he hoped was a friendly smile, and quickly dragged his aching body away from the wall. "Archie," he said.

"You all right?"

Grissom was about to give him an angry reply, but then he caught himself. _Just relax,_ he thought. "Yeah, I'm fine, Archie," he said.

Archie looked at him doubtfully, and then turned and walked off.

Grissom gave a sigh and continued on his way to the parking lot.

* * *

"Greg!" Greg had just grabbed his kit and was about to follow Grissom over to his SUV when Catherine came rushing up, calling his name. "I thought I was going to miss you," the blonde panted, out of breath from her short run. 

When she finally caught her breath, she put a hand on Greg's arm. "Watch him," she said softly, her eyes flickering over to where Grissom leaned against his vehicle, waiting. "The first sign of anything, hesitation, fear, pain. Get him out."

Greg gave an impatient sigh. "I know, Catherine," he said. "You've gone over this every night for the past three weeks. I know. I _was _there."

Catherine pulled back a bit, surprised, but she recovered quickly. "Sorry," she apologized, and it was Greg's turn to stare in surprise. Catherine gave a small smile. "I'm just worried about him. Something's not right."

"We're all worried about him," Greg replied, looking a bit embarrassed at the statement. Then he paused for a moment before continuing. "He thinks I don't know why he chose me to work with him."

Catherine gave him a questioning look, and Greg sighed impatiently. "Don't even bother, Catherine. You know. Nick and Warrick and Sara probably do too. He knows I'm the least likely to bother him about everything."

"He doesn't _know_, he _thinks_. Doesn't mean you have to go along with his beliefs."

Greg frowned. "You really expect me to try and talk to him?" Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Grissom's impatient expression, and sighed. "I better go."

"Good luck," Catherine said with a small smile. "And you know what I expect."

Greg just rolled his eyes, but Catherine could see in his worried glance as he walked away that he would try and do what needed to be done.

* * *

"What did Catherine want?" 

Greg was slightly surprised when Grissom broke the heavy silence halfway to their crime scene, and he took a moment before answering.

"She just wanted to make sure I was ok," he lied easily. "We had a pretty bad case the other day. I kind of... I got a bit freaked out." He hoped his little story wouldn't make Grissom rethink taking him to scenes, and he made a mental note to call Catherine as soon as he could and make sure she knew the story.

"Oh," Grissom replied, but it was obvious he wasn't convinced, and Greg was relieved when he left it at that. He wouldn't have put it past Grissom to call Catherine and confirm the story.

The rest of the ride was spent in the same uncomfortable silence. When they reached the crime scene, Greg watched discreetly as Grissom slid stiffly out of the SUV, wincing as he stepped down onto the ground.

"You all right?" he asked quietly before he could stop himself, and he gave himself a mental kick when Grissom flashed him an annoyed glance.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

Greg shrugged, as though it was really of no concern to him. "All right."

They met Brass at the crime scene, and the homicide detective gave Grissom a long, appraising look before leading them up the steps of the house. "Showgirl," he said, "and the lucky man who got the back stage pass."

Grissom raised his eyebrow at the detective, and Brass shrugged. "Mr. Henderson, thirty, wife's out of town on business. I guess he thought he'd have a little fun while she was gone."

"I take it they're upstairs... in the bedroom?" Greg questioned with a small smirk.

"Wow, Greg," Brass said, pretending to be shocked, as he looked at the lab tech. "I didn't even see you there. I thought they never let you out of your cage."

"Has anyone been in yet?" Grissom cut in irritably as Greg gave Brass an evil glare.

Where normally Brass would have made a sarcastic, teasing comment, today he instead sobered instantly and showed them through the front door. "Just the neighbour who found them. On Fridays the vic usually played poker with the neighbour and a few other friends – this was the first time he'd ever blown them off before, so the neighbour came over to see if he was all right. Found the door wide open, and got worried. Went upstairs and found them."

Grissom frowned. "So our crime scene was compromised?" he interrupted.

"Yes, and no," Brass replied cryptically. "The killer was still there according to the neighbour, and they got into a bit of a scuffle. Sent the killer running off, but not before his face was seriously damaged."

"So the neighbour should have evidence on him, right?" Greg queried cautiously, glancing at Grissom.

Grissom nodded absently as his eyes scanned the room, taking in the bloody shoeprints on the floor as he motioned for Greg to hand him his camera. "Yeah. But we'll get to him later. Let's go check out the unlucky lovers. "

They made their way up the stairs slowly, Greg taking pictures of the trail of blood at Grissom's command. As they worked, Greg discreetly kept one of his eyes on Grissom at all times. It appeared that Grissom was fine, until they reached the bedroom.

It was the blood. God, there was so much blood. Soaked into the bed, and the carpet, and spattered across the walls. Just like the grocery store. And the woman's eyes. The girl's eyes were open, staring at him blankly, fear etched across her face. All he could remember was the way the woman had stared at him from the floor of the grocery store, her arms wrapped around her dead son, soaked in blood. All that blood.

Greg automatically reached out a hand to steady his supervisor as he swayed unsteadily. Grissom's face was pale, and drops of perspiration were breaking out on his forehead as he stared at the scene, but the instant Greg touched him he seemed to realize where he was, and he jerked away. The fear on his face was masked with a sudden, fierce anger.

"Start taking pictures," he snapped, turning away from Greg.

_Say something,_ Greg told himself. Catherine's words rang in his head. _The first sign of anything, hesitation, fear, pain. Get him out. _But he couldn't bring himself to do it, and he only nodded as he obeyed automatically.

_Damn it! _Grissom swore at himself angrily as he stood perfectly still in the doorway. _You almost lost it. _He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened, but opened them just as quickly again; the insides of his lids were coated with the red blood of the victims. His eyes flicked all over the room, searching for an avenue of retreat, but there was none. There was blood everywhere; there was no escaping it.

Sara's words from so long ago suddenly rang in his ears. _I wish I were like you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything._

_Don't feel anything, _he told himself. _They aren't people. They were never people. _

He repeated the words to himself over and over again until they were burned into his brain, and he had just fixed his emotionless mask in place when David arrived.

"Hello, sir," David said nervously upon seeing Grissom. "How are you?"

"Just take a look at the bodies, David," Grissom said sharply, feeling a cold, heavy weight settle on his chest as he spoke. He ignored the surprised and hurt look David gave him, and the worried glance Greg shot towards him. "We need to get to work."

When David was finished with the bodies, Grissom took a hesitant step towards them, and then halted. Greg watched as fear and uncertainty played across his supervisor's face, and he racked his brain for a way to help without appearing to.

"Hey, Grissom?" he finally said, fixing a pleading look on his face when Grissom turned to look at him. "Can I do it?" he said. "I promise I'll do everything right."

For a minute Grissom stared at Greg, his brain processing the request, and suddenly he knew what Catherine had been saying to Greg.

Greg winced involuntarily as he saw the anger appear once again in Grissom's eyes.

"Damn it, Greg," Grissom snapped, but just as suddenly as the anger had come it was gone, and all he felt was an extreme exhaustion. It settled into his bones like a leaden blanket, to go with the other cold weight he carried.

_If he does it, you don't have to deal with it._ Grissom sighed, and glanced at the door. Brass had appeared there a moment before; when he saw Grissom's eyes turn towards him, the police captain immediately switched his gaze to the bodies on the bed. Grissom sighed again, and swung his gaze back to Greg, who was looking like a kicked puppy. "Fine," he finally said hoarsely. "Fine."

He couldn't quite tell if the look in Greg's eyes was relief, or worry. He didn't know if he wanted to.

* * *

Later, when they had finished the evidence collection and interviewing the neighbour, Grissom made his way back to the Tahoe, Greg trailing uncertainly behind. He could tell that Grissom was exhausted, and he could even pinpoint the exact moment it had happened; when Grissom had realized that Greg was trying to take care of him. 

Why was it so awful for someone to try and help him? Greg wondered. Why did he have to try and do everything alone?

Greg couldn't come up with any answers, and he thought that even if Grissom wanted to tell him, he wouldn't be able to either.

Grissom got into the passenger side of the vehicle, moving even slower than he had all evening, bracing his arm against the door as he lowered himself gingerly onto the seat. Greg was smart enough not to ask if he had any pills for the pain; he figured that would be the last straw tonight, and he wasn't about to take a chance so he started up the SUV and pulled out onto the road without comment.

Grissom was silent as they drove. Every few minutes Greg would shoot a surreptitious glance at his supervisor, taking in the slouched posture, the pain that lined his face despite his best efforts to hide it.

It wasn't long before Grissom's eyelids drooped shut, and for a moment he wanted to just let go and sleep; but then suddenly a scream pierced the calming blackness that enveloped him, and the black turned to red. His eyes snapped open instantly in terror and he sat straight up, ignoring the burning sensation in his chest as he gasped for breath. He had bit his tongue on accident, and now the cloying, coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying to get rid of it.

"Grissom?" Greg turned in surprise at Grissom's sharp intake of breath. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Grissom wheezed out as he slumped back in the seat. Greg could hear the pain in his voice. "I'm all right."

"Grissom," Greg persisted, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Grissom snapped, having caught his breath. "I'm fine."

"But..."

"I'm _fine._"

Greg heard the pain once again, and an underlying current of fear.

What was Grissom afraid of? But he didn't pursue it; he only frowned in frustration and kept his eyes straight ahead for the rest of the drive. Catherine would have to deal with Grissom on her own.


	3. Chapter 3: Shadows

Chapter 3: Shadows

"Greg!"

Greg turned in surprise as Catherine touched his shoulder and called his name.

"Yes?" he questioned as he picked up the printout for the DNA sample he and Grissom had taken from the neighbour's knuckles. "What can I do for you?"

Catherine raised her eyebrow at him. It had been half an hour since he and Grissom had returned from their crime scene, and Greg had been hoping she wouldn't show up for at least another hour.

Greg avoided her gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the printout.

With an impatient sigh, Catherine snatched the paper from his hand. "Greg," she said, "You know what I want. How was he?"

It was Greg's turn to sigh. He couldn't believe he was doing this. "Can't you just ask him?" he muttered. "Maybe if you just asked him instead of always going behind his back and using the rest of us as spies you'd actually get more information."

Catherine stared at him disbelievingly. "Don't be stupid, Greg," she snapped. "Just answer the question."

Grabbing back his printout, Greg turned away again and began working on the next blood sample. "There was a lot of blood at the crime scene," he stated neutrally. "He got really freaked out when he saw it."

There was a long moment of silence; Greg finally turned to see why Catherine wasn't saying anything, and he groaned when he saw that she was looking at Nick and Sara, who had just walked in. Just in time to hear what he had said.

"What do you mean he by 'freaked out?'" Sara said softly, completely still except for the slight trembling of her hands.

Catherine opened her mouth to say something, but Greg cut her off. They were all friends with Grissom; they all cared about him. If Catherine was going to have all the facts, the rest of them should be in the loop as well.

"He got really pale, and he started sweating. He was swaying, like he was going to pass out."

"Why didn't you get him out?" Catherine snapped. "I told you to take care of him. I told you if anything like that happened to get him out of there."

Greg turned on her, his not-often seen temper flaring at her accusatory tone. "I was going to! I reached out to steady him, and when I touched him he snapped out of it and jerked away. He was angry, Catherine. What was I supposed to do? He's my supervisor, but more importantly he's _Grissom_. You don't tell Grissom what to do. You don't _take_ _care_ of Grissom; he takes care of himself. And us. God damn it, how do you think he feels? I could _see_ the fearin his eyes, Catherine. He was afraid, and I was afraid because he's never afraid. And you know what? I think he was afraid for the same reason I was. And I think he's afraid because he's not in control anymore, because he can't stop himself from feeling these emotions anymore. I..."

Nick broke in then, placing a calming hand on Greg's shoulder and stepping between the lab tech and the fuming Catherine. "Take it easy, man," he soothed. "You did everything you could. It's all right, Greg."

"Whatever," Greg muttered, pulling away and turning back to his desk. He could hear Nick and Sara in the background, talking to Catherine. _Who cares,_ he thought darkly to himself. He wanted to turn on his music, but for once he thought about Grissom before he did.

When they had arrived back at the lab, Greg could tell that his supervisor was nursing a headache and a foul mood. His words of parting had been curt and to the point. "I want DNA profiles for those blood samples on my desk before the end of shift."

So Greg continued to work in silence, the only sounds to be heard those of the softly whirring machines in his lab.

* * *

When Catherine stormed out of Greg's lab, the only thought in her mind was to find Grissom and confront him. Nick and Sara foiled her plan, however, when they cornered her in the break room.

"You can't just go up to him and start yelling," Nick said, frowning at her.

"He's been through a lot," Sara pointed out. "He doesn't need you ragging on him."

Catherine glowered back at them, her face reddening. "Yes, Sara, he's been through a lot, and that's the whole point," she retorted. "Grissom doesn't allow himself to feel anything. He pushes important emotions away and buries them until they grow and get out of control and tear him apart from the inside out. All because of fear."

Nick and Sara exchanged glances at her words, the worry in their guts turning to their own brand of fear. They knew Catherine was right, ultimately. Despite the things they had all said to Grissom over the years, they knew deep down that it wasn't that he couldn't feel anything; it was that he wouldn't feel anything.

He was afraid. Afraid of being known – afraid of being understood and then rejected. Maybe afraid that whatever secrets he kept would be discovered.

Only he and God knew, but it was the reason for his lack of a personal life; the reason he kept them all at a distance. Despite his often-friendly personality, there was always that wall there, which stopped them from getting to know him. It was the reason he had refused to tell Warrick and Sara how he had learned sign language all those years ago; the reason he had withdrawn from Sara's flirtatious behaviour. It was the reason he never volunteered personal information when the team went out for breakfast, and they had long discussions about old friends, and growing up.

"You know I'm right," Catherine said softly, her eyes still hard. "He's afraid of the emotions he feels."

Suddenly, she seemed to deflate, and she sat down hard on the break room couch. With a tired groan, she ran her hand over her face. "We shouldn't be discussing this - or pursuing it. We don't have any of the facts."

Sara glanced at Nick and shrugged before sitting down next to Catherine. "Nobody has all the facts when it comes to Grissom," she said, attempting a smile.

Catherine gave a small chuckle at that. "As Lindsey would say, he's definitely an anomaly."

The group looked up as Warrick's voice rang through the quiet of the break room, confused. "Lindsey would say _what_? About who?"

Catherine laughed out loud at the expression on his face. "Anomaly. It was a vocab word she had to learn," she explained. "She uses it every chance she gets. I was just saying that..."

"Wait," Warrick interrupted, heading over towards the coffee pot, "don't tell me. Grissom."

Nick chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, man, how'd you know?"

Warrick shrugged and flashed Catherine a grin. "Hey, I'm a smart guy. I just know these things."

The tension that had previously filled the room dissipated, and for the moment all thoughts of Grissom and the events of the previous month vanished.

* * *

When Grissom and Greg had returned to the lab, Grissom had immediately retreated to his office, both his ribs and his head aching. He was pissed with himself for almost losing it, and pissed at Catherine for making sure he had a baby-sitter. _But then, turned out you needed one, didn't it?_ he thought bitterly as he stared at the piles of paperwork that sat on his desk.

"Might as well get started," he muttered quietly to himself then, thinking that while it wasn't the best job in the world, at least it would keep his mind occupied while he waited for the results from Greg.

An hour later, Grissom had made a considerable dent in the paperwork, and was desperately in need of some coffee. Signing one last case review, he stood and made his way to the break room, slowly, taking care not to bump his ribs.

When he got there, he found Catherine, Nick, Sara, and Warrick already there, seated around the table. They were laughing about something, and Grissom couldn't help but smile himself. His smile disappeared, however, when he entered the room and it suddenly became quiet.

_God damn it,_ he screamed silently, training his face into an emotionless mask as an almost physical pain coursed through his body.

"Hey, Grissom," Catherine greeted him, smiling. Grissom merely studied her silently; the smile was too forced.

"Hey," he finally replied, moving towards the coffee machine.

"Sit down, Gris," Nick broke in, getting to his feet quickly. "I can get you some. Greg made some of his good stuff for you. He..."

"I can get my own coffee, Nick," Grissom said through clenched teeth, feeling an inexplicable anger fill him. "Greg didn't need to get out his stash just for me. I won't die if I drink the regular stuff."

"Gris," Catherine began, seeing Nick's hurt expression, but Grissom cut her off.

"I don't want special treatment," he snapped. "I'm not a cripple, and I'm not crazy."

"Grissom!" Catherine finally broke in, standing up and placing a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back out of the room.

"He's just messed up right now, Nick," Warrick reassured Nick quietly as they watched Catherine drag Grissom out of the room.

Sara patted his shoulder; her eyes were worried for Grissom, yet upset at the same time for what he had said to Nick. "It's not your fault."

Nick shrugged, but they could still see the embarrassment and pain on his face. Then they all turned to stare out the window as Catherine lit into Grissom.

"What the hell was that?" she snapped.

Grissom glared at her, and shoved her hand off his shoulder. From where they were sitting, the team could see that he was trembling. "I don't want special treatment, Catherine," he snarled.

"So you decided to freak out at Nick?" Catherine replied angrily. "He didn't do anything. He just wanted to help!"

"And that's exactly what I don't need! Help! So lay off with the interference!"

Catherine stared at him. "What are you talking about?" she sputtered.

"Give me a break, Catherine, you think I'm that stupid?" he snapped harshly. "I know what you told Greg before we left for the crime scene. 'Take care of the psycho. If he goes nuts, tie him down and call me.'"

"Jesus Christ, Gil, you are really something," Catherine said, her face dark. "I asked him to watch out for you because I care about you. The whole team cares about you, Gil, whether you like it or not."

"And I appreciate that," Grissom snapped, "but caring isn't the same as being scared I'm going to snap."

For a long moment they just stood there, staring at each other, Grissom's chest heaving painfully and his hands trembling.

Catherine was the one who finally broke the silence, placing a hand gently on his arm. "Grissom," she said, letting out her breath in a sigh, "let's just... let's just forget about this, and we can go out and get you something to eat, and then I'll drop you off at home and you can take a nap. You can come back next shift."

Grissom jerked away from her hand, his face angry again. "See, that's what I mean. You're acting like my mother. If I'm hungry, I'll eat. If I'm tired, I'll go home and get some sleep. But I'm not hungry, and I'm not tired, so I'll stay here and work on my case. I..."

"Grissom," Catherine retorted, losing her patience, "you've lost weight since I last saw you, and you look exhausted. Greg says you could barely keep yourself together at that crime scene, and you wouldn't even allow yourself to sleep in the car. He said you were scared of something. Grissom, what the hell is going on with you? Yes, you've been through a lot, and yes, you're not the greatest at expressing emotion, but for God's sake we're your friends. Why won't you let us help you?"

"Because I don't need your help!" Grissom yelled, completely oblivious to the fact that half the lab could hear him. "I don't _want_ your help! Why can't you just figure it out? How many times do I need to say it? Leave me alone!"

With that, he spun around and stormed off down the hall, leaving Catherine staring after him, her mouth open in shock.

* * *

"Aren't you going to go after him?" Sara said worriedly when Catherine returned to the break room.

Catherine shook her head tiredly and finished her own cup of coffee. "No. He needs some time to cool off."

For a long moment there was a tense, uncomfortable silence in the room. Then Nick spoke. "I didn't mean to bug him so much. I just..."

"Hey, Nicky," Catherine broke in, her voice firm, "it wasn't your fault. All you did was offer to get him some coffee. He never should have reacted that way."

* * *

Grissom lay on his back on the roof of the lab in the darkness of the Vegas night. His eyes were turned towards the night sky, though there were no stars to be seen. He often came up here when he needed some peace and quiet, but this time was different. This time he was hiding – from the world, from himself. Normally he would just stand and stare out over the city. Now he lay prone on the rooftop, the anger giving way to a pulsing, living pain that filled the hollow space in his chest and threatened to overwhelm him. It overshadowed the physical pain of his injured ribs, and the pounding in his temple that signified the beginnings of his 'migraine of the day,' as he had bitterly taken to calling them.

He thought about getting up to get some of his migraine medicine to at least dull some of the pain, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to move. His body felt hot, and then cold, like he had an awful fever. _Maybe you do have a fever,_ he thought numbly. _Maybe you're just hallucinating all this._ But he knew it wasn't true, and suddenly all he could think of was how he had freaked out at Nick for no good reason.

_But you did have a reason,_ he assured himself, pushing away the thought that he was trying to rationalize something that couldn't be rationalized. _It wasn't like he was getting the Goddamn coffee because he was in a kind mood. He felt sorry for you._ Grissom grimaced at the thought. _Everyone feels sorry for you, _he thought. _Everyone feels sorry for you, when they should be feeling sorry for that dead man and woman, and her dead son. They should feel sorry for them, and hate you. Because you let them die. You might as well have killed them, for all the good you did them. You let them die. _

"No," Grissom breathed raggedly, his voice hoarse as the word caught in his throat, and he felt hot tears burning his eyes. But he couldn't shake the thoughts from his head, and the pain in his chest seemed to increase. _You let them die. You let them die. You let them die. You..._

It was Doc Robbins who saved him, unwittingly. When Grissom's pager went off, the pain that ripped through his skull broke his line of thought, letting him focus on something else as he quickly glanced at the message.

_Bodies ready,_ it fairly screamed at him, and Grissom let out a trembling sigh of relief as the pain in his chest decreased. "Thank you, God," he whispered, for the first in his life thankful for the pounding against his forehead. It was real, something that had been part of him since he was a child, not some phantom pain that was like a ghost, always there yet not always felt, lurking in the background, in the shadows, until it suddenly came rushing forward to make itself known and as real as anything when you least expected it. The memories and thoughts of the robbery were the same; hiding in the shadows until you least wanted them. It was always what was in the shadows that got you.

* * *

"Hey, Gil," Doc Robbins greeted him as Grissom stepped into the morgue, squinting against the bright lights. Robbins frowned at the scientist's obvious discomfort, but didn't say anything. He had already heard about Grissom's angry outbreak in the break room, and didn't want to agitate his friend any more than he already was.

"Al," Grissom returned curtly, reinforcing Robbins' resolve not to comment.

"Ok, ladies first," the coroner said, leading the way over to one of his tables and pulling back the sheet from the woman's face. "Kathleen Marley, twenty-five. Multiple stab wounds to the chest. COD was..." He trailed off suddenly as Grissom suddenly pulled away from the body, his face draining of colour. "Gil?" he questioned, unable to hide the worry in his voice.

Grissom didn't hear the coroner's concerned query; he was too busy trying to fight back the waves of nausea that were running through him. _Just breathe, _he thought, gritting his teeth and turning away from the body. There wasn't even that much of a smell; he had been around worse than this before.

But apparently it didn't matter how much it smelled, or didn't, because one instant Grissom thought he had it under control, and the next his chest heaved painfully as he violently emptied his stomach's contents into the sink next to the coroner's table.

He stood, doubled over the sink even after he had finished throwing up, feeling pain rip through not only his head but also his chest and side. His throat burned, and lights exploded in his eyes as suddenly his knees gave out beneath him and he slid to the floor, unaware of the hands grabbing at him, trying to hold him up. He welcomed the blackness that slid across his vision then, taking away the pain and leaving him hovering in a suspended darkness.

"Gil! Gil!" Robbins thought his heart was going to stop when Grissom's body suddenly folded beneath him and he slid to the floor, unconscious. It was all so unexpected.

Within minutes, however, the coroner was in control of the situation. He gently slid Grissom's body down onto the floor so he was on his side in the recovery position, the top two buttons of his shirt undone to allow him to breath easier.

"God help me, Gil, you always have to push yourself too hard," Robbins muttered under his breath as he pulled himself upright again. He cursed everything from Grissom to his prosthetic legs and his crutch as he made his way to the phone, keeping one eye trained on the unconscious scientist that lay on the floor. "You're going to get yourself killed one of these days."


	4. Chapter 4: Relief and Relapse

A/N: The song is 'I Am A Rock,' by Simon and Garfunkel. I don't own it. Oh, and thanks for all the reviews, guys:) Sorry for the long wait.

Chapter 4: Relief and Relapse

"Grissom. Grissom, can you hear me?" Grissom groaned asthe voice suddenly filtered into his safe haven, punching the comforting blackness full of holes until the darkened morgue slowly began to take shape under his half-closed eyes. He wondered vaguely who had turned off the overhead lights. "Grissom!"

He groaned again, involuntarily, and closed his eyes. He hurt all over. Then he suddenly remembered what had happened. His eyes snapped open, and he tried to push himself up off the floor but Sara was ready for him, and held him down firmly.

"Just relax," she said softly, and Grissom's heart started to pound as he wondered how he was going to explain this one away.

"Can I get up, please?" he said hoarsely, trying not to sound irritable.

Sara gave him a look, then glanced at Doc Robbins, who had just re-entered the morgue with a clean washcloth.

Sighing, the coroner nodded. "Just take it easy, Gil," he said, motioning to the chair that stood next to the table. "Go slowly. I want you sitting in this chair."

Following Robbins' direction, Grissom slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, and then with Sara's help he stood and let his body fold into the chair tiredly. Suddenly, the world was spinning around him and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard as his stomach protested again.

"You okay?" Sara asked softly, taking a step closer.

Grissom nodded curtly; he regretted it instantly, and his face blanched as pain shot through his skull. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he dropped his head to his hands.

The sound of water running as Robbins wet the cloth pounded into Grissom's brain, and he couldn't tell when it began or when it stopped.

He sighed raggedly in relief though when someone ran the dampened cloth over his face, soothing away some of the pain.

Then he realized who it was.

"Sara," he said hoarsely, pulling away from the kneeling figure. He didn't want her to stop. He wanted to sit there and let her take care of him, but he couldn't. He couldn't let anyone take care of him.

Hearing his soft protest, Sara backed off and stood in front of her injured supervisor, arms folded and a frown plastered across her face. Grissom, sensing her irritation, slumped even further down in his chair. "Well," Sara began. "You don't want me to help you. Can I at least take you to see a doctor?"

Grissom winced at her tone of voice. "I'm fine, Sara," he muttered.

"Grissom, you just passed out," she snapped, "You're not fine. You should go see a doctor. Just to make sure that you're going to be all right."

Grissom grimaced, and rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't need a doctor, Sara," he said hoarsely. He glared at the coroner as Robbins snorted, but quickly closed his eyes once again as the light from outside the morgue played across his face.

"Gil," Robbins began, noting the look of pain that crossed his friend's face suddenly, "I won't say you absolutely have to see a doctor, but it would be a good idea."

"I don't need a doctor," Grissom snapped again. He tried to stand, but the world immediately started to spin in circles around him again and he sat back down, hard.

There was a long silence for a moment, and Grissom could feel two sets of eyes burning into him. "I..."

"Listen, Grissom," Sara began, and Grissom was startled when she knelt down in front of him again and leaned against his knee so her face was close to his. "If you let me take you to the doctor, and then home for the rest of the night, I promise I won't tell Catherine about all this."

Grissom grimaced at the thought of what the blonde would do if she found out. "Sara..."

"Grissom..." Sara returned, giving him a look.

He glared at her. There was a long moment of silence, and then he sighed. "I'll go home," he muttered. "But no doctor. I don't need one."

Sara eyed him sternly.

It was Robbins who finally broke the silence. "Listen, Gil. Just let me do a quick check-up before you go." He caught Sara's gaze, and saw the hopeful look in her eye. Then he turned back to Grissom. "Nothing that happened in here leaves this room. I promise. Just let me make sure you're going to be all right."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later Sara pulled up in front of Grissom's townhouse. The radio played softly in the background, per Grissom's orders. 

He had finally been coerced into telling them about the increased frequency of his migraines, despite his many evasion tactics, and Sara had been a bit surprised at his wish to have some music on.

Robbins had told her quietly before they left that the migraines were likely brought on by the extreme stress of what he had been through and, possibly, the irregular sleeping patterns that had obviously been exhausting him for a while. The coroner had also informed Sara that if something didn't change, Grissom's migraines would only continue to get worse until they were so debilitating he would be forced to miss work for days, or possibly even weeks at a time. The prospect was not pleasant, either for Grissom or Sara, and Sara prayed to God _someone_ would find a way to get through to him and help him.

As things stood, she was willing to do anything to make that happen.

* * *

They had gotten out of the lab with little trouble, though they had been forced to take it slow so Grissom could keep his feet under him. 

When Sara had told Catherine she was taking Grissom home, the blonde had stared at her in surprise for a moment before smiling. "Okay," she said. "I'll take over. You are coming back, right?"

Sara paused a moment before answering carefully. "I don't know."

Catherine shrugged. "Fair enough. Make sure he's all right, hey?"

"Yeah," Sara replied.

"I'll tell Nicky to keep working on that BE. I think he said he's got something really big on it. If you get back tonight you can keep working on Grissom's DB."

There was an awkward silence as Catherine's smile faded, and she looked down. "Listen, Sara. Will you... could you tell Grissom I'm sorry?"

Sara looked at her in surprise as the blonde continued.

"I should have tried to be more understanding... it's just... I'm not used to having to be careful with him when he screws up in the social department. Normally I can just tear into him and get my point across easily, but now... I just have a hard time believing that anything could mess him up this bad, he's so... sometimes it seems like nothing could ever get to him, you know?"

Sara met her gaze, and nodded. "Yeah," she replied softly, thinking of all the cases where she had nearly lost it, and Grissom had remained stoic and unresponsive. "Yeah, I know."

With a sigh, Catherine turned back to the bloody t-shirt she was inspecting. "None of us can ever understand what he's going through," she murmured, "but that doesn't mean we can't try and help him. We just have to make him understand it's ok to ask for help."

* * *

Sara glanced across at Grissom suddenly, wondering if he knew how much they all really cared about him. Grissom, sensing her gaze on him, looked out his window so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. He heard her sigh. 

"Thanks for the ride," he muttered. He was about to get out of the SUV when suddenly the song playing on the radio caught his ear. He paused. Sara looked at him curiously, studying his reactions, as they listened together.

_A winter's day  
__In a deep and dark December  
__I am alone  
__Gazing from my window  
__To the streets below  
__On a freshly fallen  
__Silent shroud of snow  
__I am a rock  
__I am an island_

_I build walls  
__A fortress deep and mighty  
__That none may penetrate  
__I have no need of friendship  
__Friendship causes pain  
__It's laughter  
__And it's loving I disdain  
__I am a rock  
__I am an island_

Grissom closed his eyes as the words washed over him, the bright sound of the song unable to overshadow the fresh wave of pain that he felt. This was hitting way too close to home.

_Don't talk of love  
__Well I've heard the word before  
__It's sleeping in my memory  
__I won't disturb the slumber  
__Of feelings that have died  
__If I never loved I never would have cried  
__I am a rock  
__I am an island_

Once again, he could feel Sara's gaze burning into him. _I'm sorry,_ he thought silently, willing her to understand.

_I have my books  
__And my poetry  
__To protect me  
__I am shielded in my armor  
__Hiding in my room  
__Safe within my womb  
__I touch no one and no one touches me  
__I am a rock  
__I am an island  
__And a rock feels no pain  
__And an island never cries_

"Nice song," Sara said softly, sensing his distress. As the words of the song repeated themselves in her head, she could understand why.

Grissom shoved open his door abruptly. "Sure," he muttered.

He was halfway up his front step when suddenly a wave of dizziness hit him and he put out a hand to steady himself; there was nothing there to grab, and he went to the ground, hard.

"Grissom!" Sara was there in an instant, checking him all over to make sure he wasn't hurt. It worried her that instead of appearing the least bit embarrassed he merely gazed at her with a dazed sort of look in his eyes. Gently, she took his hand and helped him regain his footing. His skin was hot to the touch, and she almost pulled away in surprise. She was beginning to have doubts about how 'ok' he was. Robbins had said he would be fine, but why did he feel as though he had a fever?

"Listen, I'm going to call Catherine, all right?" she said as she helped him up the rest of the steps to the door of his townhouse. If anyone knew what to do, it would be Catherine. Despite their argument earlier, her and Grissom were practically best friends. Sara felt a twinge of sadness and regret at the thought. Once Grissom and her had been that close, if not closer.

"No," Grissom told her, sounding like a petulant child as he pulled away unsteadily. "You said you wouldn't tell her."

"Hey, hey, all right," Sara grabbed his arm again as he nearly overbalanced off the side of the step. "I won't."

He seemed reassured by her words, and waited silently as she unlocked his door and led him in. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks that he was showing no inclination to tell her to get lost.

Once inside, she went to turn on a light but Grissom's hand stopped her. "Don't," he whispered hoarsely, and she immediately pulled her hand away, giving herself a mental kick for forgetting about his migraine already.

"You need to get some sleep," she informed him as he moved away from her.

He didn't answer her, and suddenly the room was illuminated slightly by the glow of a small lamp on the table next to his sofa. The light was soft, but Grissom still turned away from it as it stabbed at his eyes. "Just a second," he muttered as he stumbled to his kitchen and opened a cupboard.

Sara watched silently as he pulled out his bottle of migraine pills and opened it. His shaking hands dropped it, and he swore as the pills spilled all over the counter. For a moment he tried clumsily to pick them up himself, but he couldn't focus and his fingers couldn't seem to hold onto the tiny pills. He finally gave up with a defeated sigh.

"Sara..." he turned to her, his eyes pained and pleading at the same time.

The look was all she needed, and she was at his side instantly. "I've got it, Gris," she reassured him softly, quickly and efficiently cleaning up the spill. She was surprised at the way he was acting – it wasn't like him, whether he was in a bad mood or a good mood.

She handed two of the pills to Grissom, along with a glass of water. "Here you go," she said, watching as swallowed and downed the rest of the glass of water.

When he was finished, she filled the glass again, and he drank that as well before shaking his head as she went to take it again. He tried to set it down gently, but the sharp _clink _of it coming in contact with the counter still caused him to wince and put a hand to his head.

"You should really get some rest," Sara said again as he leaned against the counter and closed his eyes.

"Yeah," he responded hoarsely, his mind straying momentarily to the images that would most likely haunt his sleep.

He staggered into his bedroom, and Sara took the time to take in the living room without distraction. It wasn't so different from the last time she had been here, during the 'strip stranger' case, but it was all in the little details. The way it was a little less organized, with books strewn everywhere, opened to random pages; the way the blanket on the couch was rumpled, and the pillow under it still showed the indent of where his head had rested. There was a piece of toast and a picked-over bagel sitting on his kitchen table. They looked as though they had been there for days, and when she opened his fridge she noticed that there was plenty of food, but everything had already passed its expiration date.

Her mind was bombarded by a flurry of questions that she couldn't even begin to imagine the answers to.

Why was he sleeping on the couch? Why were all his books, normally so neat and organized, out of order? Why wasn't he eating?

Her question and answer session was cut short when he reappeared minutes later, having changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. "You don't have to stay," he said as he slumped down on the couch.

Sara followed, exasperated. "Yes. I think I should stay. I want to stay. And when I said you should get some sleep I meant you should get some sleep in a proper bed!"

He mumbled something unintelligible in reply as he stretched out on his stomach and rested his head on his arms. With his forehead creased with exhaustion and pain, Sara couldn't help but feel incredibly sorry for him, and she sat down next to him on the couch, hesitantly reaching out to touch his shoulder. He stiffened and breathed in sharply at the contact, but she didn't take her hand away, and proceeded to rub his back soothingly. Slowly, after what seemed like an eternity, his breathing became regulated, and he relaxed.

"Thanks," he finally said, his voice low and sleepy.

"Uh... you're welcome," Sara replied, trying to do what she was doing without really thinking about it. Suddenly, she remembered what Catherine had said to her.

"Uh, Grissom?"

"Mmmm?"

"I talked to Catherine before we left, and..."

Grissom turned his head slightly to look at her. "You said..."

"I know, Grissom," she interrupted. "I didn't tell her anything. We just talked for a bit, and she wanted me to tell you ... she wanted me to tell you she's sorry, for earlier."

With a sigh, Grissom turned his face away again. "She didn't have to apologize. I shouldn't have gotten so angry at Nick like that. He didn't deserve it."

Sara wanted to say something, but she forced herself to stay silent. That was between Grissom, Catherine and Nick, and she wasn't going to get into the middle of it.

There was another moment of silence, and Sara moved to his shoulders, working out the knots.

He groaned and tensed a little as she worked, but quickly relaxed again as he felt sleep coming over him. It was the first time in three weeks that he had been completely relaxed, and he thought that maybe he would actually be able to rest without any nightmares or screaming.

It was Sara, the source of his relief, who ruined it. "Grissom?" She leaned down closer to his ear and said his name again when he didn't answer. "Gris?"

"What?" he said tiredly, his eyes still closed.

She hesitated for a moment, and then phrased her question slowly and carefully.

"What happened in that grocery store?"

He stiffened once again and sat up, pulling away from her so they were at opposite ends of the couch. "Four people were murdered," he said curtly. "That's what happened."

Sara stared at him. There had only been three victims that were killed. Was he feeling guilty about killing the robber?

The press had labeled him a hero. He had 'brought a murderer to justice,' as one paper had put it. She didn't understand how he could feel guilty about killing the guy after what he had done to those other poor people, and what he had been about to do to Grissom.

"Grissom, you killed that man because you had to," she said softly. Slowly, she inched her way down the couch towards him as his knee began bouncing up and down forcefully. "You're not a murderer. You were as much a victim as..."

"I'm not a victim," he snapped angrily, keeping his gaze turned away.

"Grissom..." Sara berated herself for bringing this up, upsetting him, but it was too late to take it back now.

"Don't 'Grissom' me, Sara, I know what I did and who I am."

His words and the bitterness incorporated in them hit her hard, and she froze as he suddenly rose from the couch and made his way to the door unsteadily. "I think you should go," he said hoarsely. "Thanks for... everything. I'll see you tomorrow night at work."

_Say something,_ Sara thought as she walked numbly to the door. _Do something._ But she couldn't get her body to listen to her, and she walked out silently. She had tried so hard to get him to talk to her; had tried so hard to see what was hidden behind his shield. As the door closed behind her, she felt tears start to run down her face. _You failed him, _she thought tiredly, _just when he needed you the most.

* * *

_

When Grissom heard her SUV start up, he released the breath he had been holding and slid tiredly down to the floor where he sat, head in hands, and tried to control his trembling body. _Why did you tell her to leave?_ hethought, hearing his own confusion and pain as clearly as if he had spoken aloud. He knew that she was only trying to help. _So_ _why did you have to push her away?_ he shouted at himself, feeling a wetness building behind his eyes as once again the overwhelming feeling of aloneness washed over him, and the room resounded with screams.

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he flinched and rubbed it away frantically. _Blood._ _Their blood; on his face, his hands, his arms..._

He curled into a tighter ball, welcoming the physical ache of his ribs as he buried his face in his arms.

The soft glow of the lamp flickered suddenly and went out, and he was left alone in the dark; he was completely immersed in the shadows, both real and imaginary, and as far as he could see, there was no way out.


	5. Chapter 5: Sleep

A/N: I don't own the movie "The Bodyguard," or anything related to it. I haven't actually seen it, but it's my twin's latest obsession. Is she completely nuts? I tend to think so... but hey, what do I know?

Chapter 5: Sleep

"... And take a look at this."

Doc Robbins' voice was the first sound that Catherine heard when she pushed her way into the morgue. It pissed her off immensely, and the fact that he was speaking to Sara only made things worse.

"Excuse me, guys," she broke in as Sara leaned down to take a closer look at the body before her. When the pair glanced up, she glared at them. "I just talked to David. He had quite an interesting story to tell me. Apparently there was a good reason Grissom went home early tonight."

The look of guilty surprise that crossed both faces before her confirmed her suspicions. Surprisingly, the admission did nothing to heighten her anger; instead, she merely sighed and walked over to stand beside Sara. There was a long moment of silence as coroner and CSI waited for her to speak.

"I really should have kept my mouth shut, shouldn't I? How could I do that to him?" she finally murmured.

Sara glanced at her, and shrugged. There was no way she was going to comment on this one, though she agreed that Catherine should have left well enough alone; or at least been a little easier on him.

Robbins, however, spoke up, his voice matter-of-fact. "He's under a lot of stress, Catherine. It may be hard, but you need to try and understand, or at least learn to ignore his outbursts. The fallout from something like what he went through can be extreme, and potentially destructive to many people; especially the person experiencing it first hand."

"Grissom," Sara put in bitterly.

Robbins nodded. "Yes." Then he sighed. "You may be confused and upset by his sudden mood swings, but imagine how he feels. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He's hurting, and he's scared, but he doesn't know how to tell anyone. Anger is a common reaction when something like this happens because when you can't express your emotions it's an easy, seemingly less-painful substitute. It keeps would-be rescuers at bay. Which is a good thing, as far as he sees it, because it's what he wants, if not what he needs. For him, it's safe."

"Come on, Al," Catherine said sharply. "Why would he want to keep us at a distance after all this? All we want to do is help. We're his friends."

"It's not about friends anymore, Catherine," Robbins stated softly. "It's about fear, and pain, and hiding from those emotions. They're powerful feelings, as I'm sure you know well." His discreet reference to Eddie hurt, and she felt guilt wash over her as she suddenly thought of all the times Grissom had been there for her during those years.

The silence that followed his words was oppressing. It weighed down on them until finally Sara spoke. "There was something he said earlier... 'I know what I did and who I am.' At the time I thought he was feeling guilty about killing that robber but now... Now I'm not so sure."

"Survivors guilt," Robbins said matter-of-factly with a shake of his head. "Maybe he feels he should have saved those other people."

Suddenly, they were interrupted as Warrick strode into the room. "Hey, Cath, David told me I'd find you down here..." He trailed off as he realized how tense the atmosphere was, and he backed away, his hands raised. "Whoa, ok, sorry to interrupt, guys. Just wanted to tell you Greg's ready for us, Cath. Sara, he said he should be done with your evidence either sometime by the end of shift, or first thing tomorrow morning."

"Ok," both women acknowledged his words. As Catherine quickly left the room, Warrick frowned suspiciously at Sara and Doc Robbins.

"I'm not even gonna ask," he stated with a shake of his head before he, too, turned to leave.

Sara just frowned and turned back to Robbins with a sigh. "Ok, what was I supposed to be looking at here?"

Robbins smiled, and pointed to bloody cut and the nasty looking bruise that was situated behind the deceased Mr. Henderson's ear. Sara frowned, and inspected the cut more closely. "Nice," she muttered sarcastically. "Doesn't look like it was made with the murder weapon."

Robbins nodded as he moved over to the other side of the morgue and pointed to the x-rays he had posted. "See there? The shape it made when it punctured his skull?"

Sara frowned as she stood behind him. "It looks..."

"Like some sort of a ring?" Robbins supplied with a smile.

Sara nodded, and then glanced at the clock. Shift was almost over. "Thanks, Doc," she said, running her eyes over the body one last time before turning towards the door. "Can you page me when I'll be able to get a mold of that wound?"

"Definitely," Robbins called after her as she exited the room. "I'm sure I could get David to find you for me."

Sara threw a sarcastic yet slightly amused, "whatever, Doc," over her shoulder before disappearing out the door.

Robbins began to clean up, chuckling quietly to himself as he worked.

* * *

The end of shift found Sara sitting in Grissom's office. It was there Nick came across her, staring dejectedly at her supervisor's tarantula as the spider slowly crawled across its tank and peered at her intently from behind the glass.

"Hey, Sara!" Nick said as he leaned in the office door, a grin plastered across his face.

Sara jumped. "Huh? What?" Then she saw who it was and she returned the smile, if a little less enthusiastically.

Unfortunately Nick picked up on it instantly. He made his way into the room and slumped down on Grissom's couch beside her. "What's up, little sister?"

Sara punched him in the shoulder and rolled her eyes at him exasperatedly.

"Sorry," he amended, but his eyes gave him away, and he only earned himself another punch and a muttered threat against his life.

He knew she wasn't serious, but he could sense the agitation that was threatening to spill over at his good-natured teasing, and he toned it down and forced himself to sober up.

"So..." he began, his eyes hinting at her.

Sara shrugged. "So what?"

They eyed each other in silence, neither saying a word, and then Nick cocked an eyebrow at her.

"What happened with Grissom?"

Sara considered lying, but decided against it. Nick knew her too well. Instead, she merely shook her head and turned her attention back to Grissom's spider. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Ok," Nick conceded. "But if he did something to hurt you, I'll..."

"It wasn't him," Sara broke in sharply.

With a nod, Nick let it drop. He was rewarded for his discretion minutes later, when Sara turned to him once again and began speaking as though they were continuing a previous conversation.

"It's just... I'm scared. Scared I won't be able to help him. Sacred he won't _let_ me help him. He's just so... so _angry,_ I guessEvery little thing, he can't control himself."

"If this is about the coffee thing earlier," Nick began cautiously, but she cut him off.

"It is, Nick, and the way he reacted when Greg tried to help him at the scene, and the way he got when I tried to get him to talk earlier." She then proceeded to tell him about her earlier encounter with Grissom at his home, conveniently leaving out the reason he had returned there. When she was done, she paused and took a breath. "Doc Robbins said he's like that because he doesn't know how to express what he's really feeling..."

"Fear," Nick supplied, his eyes sad. "Pain."

Sara nodded. "Yeah," she whispered.

They were silent for a moment, and then Nick pulled her into a hug as a tear rolled down her cheek. "I just don't know what to do, Nick," she whispered as her own arms tightened around his shoulders and she held on for dear life.

Nick sighed as he patted her back soothingly. He had always felt protective of her – she was like a little sister to him, though he would never tell her or anyone else that. He knew exactly how she felt about Grissom, without her ever having to say a word. As far as he was concerned, if Grissom broke her heart one more time Nick would be the lucky guy who would have the honour of digging the man his grave.

Considering this, Nick began racking his brains for a way to help both her and Grissom. The two of them just went together – if Grissom was happy, so was Sara, and vice versa. It was basically a package deal.

"Ok," he finally said as he felt her relax in his arms, and he leaned back so he could look her in the eye. "Here's my genius plan."

Sara chuckled a bit at that, and wiped her eyes. "This better be good," she muttered.

Nick grinned, and refrained from answering. "It's the end of shift. Why don't you head over to Grissom's house?"

"I was already over there earlier, he kicked me out," she groaned. "We discussed this already."

With a shake of his head, Nick continued. "Take a movie, and some popcorn. I'd say beer, but he might get the wrong impression."

Sara glanced up at him, concern in her eyes. "You think he might start drinking?" she asked anxiously.

Nick shook his head until he thought his brains would come out his ears. He hadn't meant to give her that impression at all. "No," he amended quickly, "I'm just saying..."

At her still-concerned look, he sighed and changed tactics. "Forget I said that. Just... go over; be a friend. Pretend nothing's different. If you're cheerful and happy he might..."

He trailed off as Sara suddenly stood abruptly, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Nicky," she said with a grin, and then she was gone.

"Uh, you're welcome," Nick muttered to himself. He glanced at Grissom's tarantula, and shook his head. "Must have said something right," he told the spider seriously.

* * *

Grissom was staring blankly at his TV when his doorbell rang. He had been sitting there for over half an hour – ever since the sun had started to rise and he had been able to pull himself from his nightmare-filled, exhausted half-sleep and find his way from the door to his couch.

One of his reasons for spending the hours before this curled there on the floor by the door was he was just too tired to get up. But the other reason... the other reason was just plain fear. He had been too scared to move; too scared to find out what the shadows might have held. So he had sat there, trembling, unable to tell the difference between the broken nightmares and reality, until finally the sun came up and the room was filled with light again.

His bell rang again, and this time he was unable to ignore it. He stood and stumbled over to the door. His migraine had finally gone, but the exhaustion was still there, and he had a hard time getting his feet to move.

Opening his door, he could only stare when he saw who it was.

"Hey," Sara greeted him with a smile. Then she frowned when she took in his appearance. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes red. His curly hair was tousled, and it was as though he was having a hard time focusing on her. "Were you sleeping?" she questioned worriedly, beginning to second-guess her decision to go with Nicky's 'genius plan.' She was relieved when Grissom shook his head.

"No," he said. Then he nodded towards her hands, effectively changing the subject. "What's that?"

Sara's grin returned, and she held up her bag. "Oh, I just brought over a movie and some popcorn."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he asked as she pushed her way past him without asking for an invitation.

Sara gave him a pointed look. "Shouldn't you?" was her quick response.

Grissom nearly panicked at the obvious implication, but he didn't need to worry. She simply continued into his house and made herself comfortable.

With a barely audible sigh of relief, Grissom let it go and followed her back into his living room. He slumped down wearily onto his couch, keeping a wary eye on Sara as she began fiddling with his TV. He wanted to sleep so badly, but he was afraid to. He might as well watch another show; the fact that it was with Sara was a bonus, though the idea of having her here now scared him a bit. What if she wanted to talk again?

"Which movie?" he asked as she shoved it into the VCR. It seemed like a safe question.

"The Bodyguard," she threw over her shoulder with a guilty looking grin.

"With Kevin Costner and what's her name? Whitney Houston?"

The disapproving scowl on his face only caused Sara's grin to grow, and she flopped down onto the couch beside him and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You'll survive," she said. "You might actually like it by the end."

He wondered, as he eyed the popcorn suspiciously, whether he'd be able to keep it down. He hadn't had much luck with food lately. "Not a chance," he had muttered absently in reply to her statement, but he soon found himself drawn into the story.

It was nice, being able to immerse yourself in someone else's world and forget about your own for a while, even if that someone else's world wasn't the most intriguing one you had ever encountered. It was nice to pretend you had no problems, and everything was perfect.

And it was nice, too, to share that world with Sara as they sat together in companionable silence, there hands sometimes brushing as they both went for the popcorn at the same time. Every few minutes he would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and his mouth would twitch up in a small smile at the different expressions on her face as she watched. Then he would look away when he remembered that this world wasn't real, and sooner or later they would have to leave, and he wouldn't be able to share with her anymore. Wouldn't be able to share with anyone, because that would be too dangerous.

It wasn't long into the movie when Sara's eyes started to droop. She was surprised at first. Normally she didn't go to sleep until much later than this, and she was never tired. But apparently the stress of the past month had gotten to her, and she finally gave up fighting it and let her eyes close, a small, sleepy smile tugging at her mouth as she wondered how Grissom would react to her falling asleep on his couch.

It took a while for Grissom to notice the weight on his arm; then he glanced over at Sara again, and realized it was her. She had fallen asleep, and her head now rested softly against his shoulder.

_Damn,_ he thought, his eyes widening in surprise and panic, but then she sighed in her sleep and curled up so she was pressed against his side, and his eyes softened. _God, she's... stop it!_ he told himself irritably. _Just stop it._ For the longest time he sat there, afraid to move incase he woke her. Then, slowly, after what seemed like an eternity, he relaxed, and his arm snaked around her shoulder and hugged her to him firmly. He let his chin fall to rest on her hair, and he felt a tear roll down his cheek as he thought vaguely that this would probably be the one and only time anything like this ever happened.

By the time the movie was over, Grissom himself was feeling his exhaustion weighing down on him again, but he continued to fight it. It wouldn't do for him to fall asleep here next to Sara, and then wake up screaming. The sudden thought sent a wave of fear through him again, and he tightened his hold on her involuntarily.

Realizing what he was doing suddenly, Grissom relaxed his hold and carefully, so as not to wake her, shifted out from under her and laid her down gently on the sofa. He swayed a bit unsteadily at first as he stood, but then he managed to stop the world from spinning, and he moved over to the VCR and ejected the video. He began searching for the case then, wondering where on earth Sara could have put it.

Even such a simple task as that worked to keep his mind occupied for a while.

It was as he was about to put the movie away that the words on the case caught his eye. "Never let her out of your sight. Never let your guard down. Never fall in love," he read softly.

The words fit the story within the movie perfectly, yet in the back of his mind Grissom could draw parallels between them and his own life, as well. _Never let her out of your sight. Never let your guard down. Never fall in love._ It hurt like hell, when he thought about it, because it was so true. He couldn't let Sara out of his life. That one time she had tried to leave Vegas he had nearly panicked. He had managed to get her to stay, but he still couldn't force himself to let her get close; couldn't force himself to let his guard down and let her in, and couldn't allow himself to love her. And now he was screwed on all counts. Now it was doubly important to keep her out. Glancing over at where she slept on the couch, he felt a stab of pain rip through his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered painfully.

_Why not just pretend?_ came a small voice in his head. _Just this once, pretend you can let her in. Pretend you can love her._

_I can't,_ he retorted sharply. _I can't do that to her. Or to myself. _

But he ached to hold her, and to be held; to have that feeling of safety she brought.

_It's ok, _the little voice whispered._ Nothing bad will happen. _

Tentatively, he moved back over to the couch and sat again, slowly laying down beside her and wrapping his arms around her. For the longest time he merely laid there, his heart racing as he watched her sleep. _This will never happen again,_ he thought suddenly, but he pushed the thought to the back of his mind angrily. _I don't care,_ he thought fiercely. _I just...I just need her now..._

He allowed his hand to trail softly across her face as though in defiance of himself, and even the world, and involuntarily he started to cry softly. The exhaustion rolled over him in waves, and he finally allowed his eyes to close against the pain.

As hedrifted off to sleep, his face still wet with tears, he didn't see Sara's eyes open the tiniest bit as she watched him. He didn't feel her hand gently brush across his cheek, and he didn't feel the soft touch of her lips against his forehead as she whispered goodnight.


	6. Chapter 6: Progress?

Chapter 6: Progress?

Lying there beside Sara, Grissom slept for five solid, uninterrupted hours. It was the best rest he had had in three long weeks, but it didn't last.

It seemed like merely minutes to him before the comforting blackness was obliterated by a cloud of red blood. It ran down his skin, the coppery taste filling his mouth and nose, suffocating him, weakening him, and he could only watch in horror as three innocent people were murdered before him. Over and over again their blood sprayed across his face, and he cried out in anguish as he struggled against the fear that paralyzed him.

Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He woke on the couch next to Sara, soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Remembering where he was and who he was with, he froze momentarily. But she remained lost in sleep, and he eased his still trembling body off the couch and stumbled away across the room. He rubbed frantically at his arms, trying desperately to scrub away the blood that seemed to cling to him, searing his skin like flames. His body was racked with dry, gasping sobs, and all he could think was that he needed to wash off the blood; he needed to be clean. Lunging to his feet once again he made his way to his bathroom and turned on the shower.

The water was icy cold and he plunged into it without even taking off his clothes, allowing the blood to wash away. He swore he could see it as he watched, a red, swirling vortex disappearing into the black hole of the drain. It was like an eye, he thought as he bowed his head under the stream of water. An eye that always watched; its cold gaze condemned him, as he condemned himself.

"Stop it!" he screamed, but his words were drowned out by the rushing water and he pounded his fist against the wall of the shower until it was horribly bruised, and blood ran down his arm.

* * *

When Sara finally woke up, she froze; where Grissom should have been there was only cold emptiness.

"Grissom!" she called out as she sat bolt upright. Then the sound of his shower running broke through her momentary panic, and she heaved a sigh of relief. "Give me a heart attack, why don't you," she muttered. She wasn't really mad at him though. Just worried out of her mind. It had nearly killed her earlier when she had opened her eyes to find him asleep, his face still wet with tears. And there had been nothing she could do for him. Now, she wondered how he would act around her; she didn't think falling asleep with his arms wrapped around her had really been part of his plan for the night. But she had to admit she wasn't upset about it. She had liked falling asleep next to him, and waking up with his arms around her...

She shook her head at the thought, pushing it away. _Forget it, Sara,_ she told herself, _just forget it. _

Stretching a bit, she made her way to the kitchen to see if she could find any good food. No such luck, though, and she went back to sit on the couch and idly flip through the channels as she waited for Grissom.

Half an hour later, with the shower running and Grissom still not making an appearance, she began to get worried. Pushing herself up off the couch, she made her way down the hall to his room and the closed door of his on-suite.

* * *

Grissom's whole body was numb. He could no longer feel the cold as the water pounded down on him or the pain in his right fist, and he gave a shuddering sigh as he leaned wearily against the wall of the shower.

He hadn't even realized how much time had gone by until he heard Sara banging on his bathroom door.

"Grissom! You all right in there?"

He tried to yell back, but he couldn't seem to get his vocal cords to work.

"Grissom!" she called again, and the pounding became louder.

"Yeah!" he finally managed to call hoarsely, hating the tremor in his voice. "I'll be out in a sec!"

"All right, Gris. Just wanted to make sure you were all right."

At her words, Grissom remained silent. Then, after a few more seconds, he heard her close his bedroom door as she returned to the living room. Turning off the shower he stepped out, his wet clothes creating a sizeable puddle on the bathroom floor.

It was only when he was out of the cold stream of water that the numbness faded and the chill began to set in. He shivered uncontrollably as he pulled off his shirt one-handed and dropped it in an unceremonious heap on the floor. His trembling fingers were just fumbling with his belt when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. For a minute he could only stare. God, he was different.

Catherine was right; he had lost weight. And now, after his ice cold shower, his body was ghostly pale, the horrible bruise still fading slowly from his chest. Against the white of his skin the scar from the bullet-wound barely stood out, but it was still there, a constant reminder.

The blue eyes that stared back at him from the mirror were dark and haunted, filled with fear and pain. Hesitantly, he reached a hand up to his face. Those weren't his eyes. They couldn't be his eyes. But they were, and as that thought sunk in his whole body tensed and he ripped his gaze from the mirror. The cold wasn't the only thing causing him to shiver anymore. "No," he mumbled as he slumped against the wall and slid to the floor weakly.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later Sara heard Grissom come out of his room. She kept her eyes on the forensic journal she was reading and smiled, tilting her head slightly to acknowledge his presence. "Hey," she said warmly. "How did you sleep?"

He didn't answer for a moment as he stared at her intensely. If she knew he had slept beside her, she was either very good at hiding it, or really didn't care.

"Ok, I guess," he finally replied, and the tight, rough quality of his voice caused her to glance up in consternation.

He was unprepared for her sudden, intense gaze, and for a fleeting second before he masked it she caught a glimpse of the pain in his eyes.

"You all right?" she asked cautiously.

Grissom nodded curtly before turning away and glancing at the clock. Letting out a sigh of frustration when he saw they still had two hours before shift started, he began pacing around the apartment.

He could sense her eyes on him, and he kept a tight rein on his physical reactions to the cold and pain he had inflicted on himself. His injured hand was cradled carefully in his pocket; the action was to reduce jarring but as he hadn't yet noticed the prominent bruising, or allowed himself to really assess the damage, keeping it hidden also unintentionally saved him from Sara's inevitable scrutiny. Momentarily, at least...

After a few minutes, as he stood staring blankly out the window Sara spoke.

"You hungry?"

Grissom glanced at her and focused on keeping his voice level. "Not especially," he murmured, shrugging indifferently. What he really wanted was some coffee – hot coffee.

It appeared, however, that Sara either hadn't heard or wasn't listening as she stood and began fishing around in her bag for her keys. "We can either go out somewhere, or I can run out and grab some groceries and make something. You don't have anything in your fridge. Where's the closest grocery store..." She trailed off suddenly as Grissom's eyes widened and his whole body stiffened.

Mentally, she swore. "Grissom," she whispered, walking over to him slowly. "Grissom, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"It doesn't matter," he answered harshly, his voice trembling slightly as he shook his head to clear it of the images. Abruptly, he turned away.

"Listen," Sara said, trying to amend her mistake, "let's just get out of here. We can stop at the diner down the street from the lab and maybe head in early."

"I'm not hungry, Sara," he growled, his jaw clenching as he stubbornly kept his gaze fixed on the opposite wall.

Sara bit back a sigh of frustration and reached out her hand to grab his chin and make him look at her.

"Sara..." Grissom jerked back from her touch at the same instant Sara herself pulled away.

"Grissom!" she cried, her hand returning to touch his face as the shock wore off. "You're freezing!"

"No," he mumbled, "I'm fine."

But now that she studied him closely Sara could see the slight trembling of his body; the way his shoulders hunched; the way his hands pushed deep into his pockets; the way his arms pressed tightly against his sides to conserve heat. He was wearing a black sweater zipped all the way with the collar turned up, but he still appeared to be cold.

"Hey, Grissom, look at me," she said firmly.

He refused, and once again she took his face in her hands and forced him to look. "Grissom..."

He tried to jerk away but her hand was firm, and the anger in his eyes was suddenly overshadowed with fear as his heart started to race. "Don't, Sara!" he gasped hoarsely.

Without thinking he reached up and pushed at her hand.

He realized his mistake instantly as pain shot through his own hand, and he was powerless to stop her as she caught sight of the bruising and cuts and grabbed his wrist. The colour drained from her face; he winced as she touched his knuckles gently.

"Grissom, what the hell happened? You're whole body is like an ice cube, and your knuckles look like you punched a wall!"

"Nothing happened," he said softly, his eyes pleading with her to leave it alone.

"This isn't nothing," she snapped, ignoring his look. "It looks like it might be broken." She kept a tight hold on his wrist as she dragged him over to the couch and sat him down.

"Stay here," she growled.

"Sara!" he called as she disappeared into his kitchen.

But she wasn't listening. He came to his feet in anger as she called over her shoulder, "I'm getting you some ice, and then I'm going to take you to the hospital to get that x-rayed."

"God damn it, Sara," he snapped, and followed her into the kitchen. When she opened his freezer and started rummaging through it for some ice he reached up and slammed it closed with his good hand. "Sara..."

"What the hell, Grissom?" she cried, turning on him. "You need to put some ice on that. You need to get it looked at!"

"No," he replied, his voice trembling, "I don't."

They stood there for the longest time, eyeing each other, one wary, the other confused. Grissom was the first to look away, and he didn't know why but it sent another surge of anger through him. "Get out," he whispered hoarsely.

"What?" Sara questioned, her voice soft.

"I said get out. You know where the door is."

The words hit her like a slap in the face, and she felt her insides go cold. _No,_ she told herself firmly, pushing away the fear that was building in her. _Don't let him do this. _

"I'm not going, Grissom," she informed him calmly.

For a moment he only stared at her disbelievingly, and then his face reddened and his jaw clenched. "Get the hell out, Sara!" he yelled, leaning closer so his face was right in hers. "This is my place, my rules, and I want you gone!"

Sara stood her ground. "I'm sorry, Grissom, but no."

Grissom swore, feeling panic pushing its way past his anger. "Fine then," he snarled. "I'll leave. You stay here. Go ahead, make yourself at home."

Shoving past her, he was striding towards the door when she grabbed his arm. "Grissom," she began, but he whirled on her, fury growing inside him.

"Don't touch me!" he shouted. "Leave me the hell alone!"

She didn't say anything; she merely stood there, regarding him calmly, hiding her fear as he threw his hands up in the air. _He won't hurt you,_ she told herself.

And then all his anger drained from him and he slumped against the wall. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, and he felt shame rush through him as he realized he had been going to hit her.

"Sara," he said, his voice broken as he looked away. She cut him off, forcing herself to keep going.

"Just let me take you to get it looked at, Grissom," she said softly, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. She was relieved when he didn't pull away. "You should get it looked at."

"Sara, shift starts in an hour and a half."

Sara grimaced at the thought. She wanted him to stay home, but she knew that there was no way that was going to happen; she decided the best thing to do would be to just let him do what he wanted in that regard. "If we go now we'll probably have time to get some dinner before we have to be there."

"Sara, I can't..."

"Humour me, Grissom," she pleaded.

* * *

Half-an hour later Grissom found himself sitting on a bench in Doctor Henderson's office, waiting for the results from his x-rays. Sara sat beside him and when he glanced around the room he caught her watching him. It made him nervous, and he looked away. Unconsciously, his leg started moving, bouncing up and down rapidly. It was a few minutes before Sara reached over and put a hand on his knee, stopping him.

He glanced up in surprise, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"You're shaking the whole bench, Gris," she said amusedly.

"Sorry," he murmured, looking down. He heard her sigh, and then she took her hand away. _God damn it, _he thought. _Way to go._ He didn't even notice when his knee started bouncing again automatically, and this time Sara didn't stop him.

_Is he trying to be funny?_ she thought as the bench started to shake again. But then she looked over at him and saw the blank look in his eyes as he stared at the wall. He wasn't even aware that he was doing it.

She started to say something, then decided against it. Maybe it was just a nervous reaction. _He never did it before,_ she thought, frowning, trying to remember if he had. Then she sighed again. _Before... what _was_ he like before? _Before the robbery... she hated that she could barely remember what he had been like then. Had he been this closed off? This unsure of himself? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. He sure as hell hadn't been this scared of the world.

It hadn't even been that long, and already she was becoming resigned to the fact that he was too fearful to ever ask for help.

She glanced over at him again, and saw him rub his side absently with his good hand. She swallowed the lump in her throat when she remembered; that was where he had been shot. Did it still hurt him? She knew his ribs must; nobody who hurt their ribs that badly healed perfectly in three and a half weeks. If there was any pain, though, he didn't show it. _Probably afraid we'll think he's weak,_ she told herself bitterly. Then she cringed at her own thoughts. Who the hell was she to be angry with him? She had no right.

Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly as the door to the office opened, and Doctor Henderson came in.

He smiled at them. "Well, good news Mr. Grissom. You haven't broken anything."

Grissom nodded.

"So he won't need a cast?" Sara broke in.

"Not a plaster one," the doctor replied, "but he _has_ sprained his wrist so I'll wrap it just the same. You should probably put some antiseptic on those knuckles, as well. Keep the cuts clean."

* * *

It took only moments to get Grissom's hand bandaged and wrapped up, and they thanked the doctor and were out the door. They still had an hour before shift started.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Sara said teasingly as they got into her SUV. Grissom merely grunted in reply. Sara threw up a prayer and pressed on.

"You want to take the night off?" she asked, as though it wasn't a big deal at all.

He didn't even look at her as she started the vehicle. "No."

She let out a breath; waited a beat. "Ok. You want to talk about what happened?"

"No," he said again.

Sara heard the note of anxiety in his tone, and moved on. "Where do you want to eat?"

"I don't," he replied.

_Let it go,_ she told herself firmly. _Let him be._ "Ok," she said again. "Can we stop somewhere anyways, though? I'm pretty hungry."

"Whatever."

Sara didn't reply as they exited the hospital parking lot. She couldn't think of anything to say.

Grissom was surprised when they pulled up in front of the restaurant down the street from the lab and Sara parked and got out. "You're going in?" he asked. He had thought she would use the drive-through.

Sara glanced at him. "Yeah," she said. "You coming?"

"Sara, I told you, I'm not hungry," he reminded her irritably.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I know. You don't have to have anything, but I actually want to sit down to eat. If you want you can wait in the car."

With that, she closed the door and headed towards the restaurant. She didn't want to just leave him there, but she couldn't stay and baby him. Her face split in a grin when she heard a car door slam behind her, and footsteps rushing to catch up.

"Fine," he grumbled as he fell into step beside her. "I'll come in. But I'm not eating anything."

Sara shrugged. "Suit yourself."

* * *

The place wasn't very full; there were only a handful of people scattered throughout, some at booths and others at the front counter. The soft mumble of voices that filled the room and the warmth that surrounded them as they walked in made Grissom feel safe. Sara watched as he visibly relaxed and led the way to a corner booth, a sense of satisfaction filling her.

Automatically, Grissom took the seat from which he could see the door and the rest of the room. It wasn't until Sara's order arrived and the smell of her vegetarian burger drifted across the table to him that he realized he really was hungry.

Sara saw the look on his face as she began to eat, and she hid her smile. "What is it?"

"Pardon?" He glanced up at her.

"What is it? You're looking at me funny."

"I am? Sorry."

There was a moment of silence as Sara continued eating. Then Grissom's stomach growled, and Sara couldn't hide her grin this time. "You sure you don't want something?" she asked.

Grissom shook his head. "I said I don't want anything, Sara."

"Come on, Grissom, I'll buy you hamburger or something. Vegetarian, mind you, I refuse to sit her and watch you eat a regular burger. Then _I_ won't be able to eat."

"Sara, I'm not..." his protest was interrupted as his stomach growled again, and this time he sighed and looked down. "Ok," he mumbled sheepishly, "Thanks."

Sara shrugged and smiled. "Anytime." She congratulated herself as she waved over a waiter; it seemed she was making progress.


	7. Chapter 7: Realization

A/N: Sorry for the long wait once again, I've been really busy with school, and now basketball season has started as well. I'll try to keep up better, but I can't guarantee anything.

Chapter 7: Realization

"So, Grissom, that taste any good?"

At Sara's teasing query, Grissom glanced up from his plate and shrugged. "It's all right," he replied, straight-faced. "Tastes a bit like something a rabbit would eat."

Sara glared at him. "Watch it mister," she warned, but at his innocent look she couldn't help but smile, and she rolled her eyes. "Just eat."

"You asked," he said, a grin flickering across his face as well. It felt good, sitting here with Sara and throwing words back and forth as if there wasn't anything wrong in the world. He had missed doing this; not only with Sara, but with the rest of his team as well. The thought rode a wave of melancholy through him, and he realized he had lost his appetite.

Sara noticed as he suddenly put down his half-finished burger, and his dull gaze strayed to the door. _What is it now?_ she wondered, hiding a frown. But she had vowed she wouldn't push him about anything just yet, so she bit back the urge to voice her question out loud.

"Who's working my DB from the other night?"

The question caught Sara off guard, and for a moment she merely peered at him. He raised his eyebrow at her.

"Oh, sorry," she muttered sheepishly. "I am."

"And?" he prompted when she didn't go on and continued eating.

Sara shrugged. "And, I haven't had time to do much except talk to Doc Robbins about the autopsies."

"I always wondered what it was like pulling teeth," Grissom muttered darkly as he leaned forward. He raised his voice then, and slowed down his speech as though talking to someone of less than average intelligence. "What did Doc Robbins tell you, Sara?"

Sending a nasty look his way, Sara pulled out a few bills to pay for their meal. "He said COD was asphyxiation, for both vics…"

"Sara, they were stabbed…"

"I know," Sara interrupted, regaining control of her narrative. "They would have bled out if the perp hadn't suffocated them."

Grissom frowned as they exited the diner and made their way back to Sara's SUV. "Any idea what was used?"

Sara shrugged as she got into the driver's seat and started the vehicle. "Doc found a feather in Mr. Henderson's airway," she replied, "but I haven't had a chance to go over the crime scene photos or get back there to get an idea of what it could have been."

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Grissom leaned against the SUV's door, his frown deepening.

Rolling her eyes, Sara revved the engine. "Hey, Gris, are you going to get in, or do you want me to drive away without you?"

"Huh?"

"Get in."

"Oh. Sorry." Still with a thoughtful look in his eyes, Grissom carefully settled into the passenger seat and clipped himself in.

"Now," Sara said as she turned the vehicle towards the lab, "do you want to tell me what you were thinking back there?"

Grissom shrugged. "There were feather pillows on the bed."

"And?" Sara prodded, imitating him from earlier.

"With two of them and, as far as we know, only one perp, you'd think they would have managed to fight back a little bit."

"Not necessarily," Sara corrected him. "Mr. Henderson was hit in the back of the head – hard enough to leave an indent in his skull. He probably would have been fairly out of it."

"What kind of an 'indent' are we talking about?" Grissom questioned. They pulled up in front of the lab as Sara answered.

"Doc and I both agree; it looks like it's probably from some type of a ring."

"Mmmm," Grissom replied absently, but his mind was obviously elsewhere.

There was still half an hour until shift started, and as they entered the building they were immediately met by the unwelcome face of Conrad Ecklie.

"Good evening, Gil," he said, his face contorting in the little smirk he always seemed to wear when Grissom was around. He ignored Sara, who decided it would be best if she didn't stick around.

Nodding in acknowledgement of the greeting, Grissom was about to continue on down the hall after Sara when Ecklie reached out and grabbed his arm.

Grissom suppressed a frown of irritation as he turned back to the dayshift supervisor. "Something I can do for you?" he asked.

Ecklie shrugged. "No. I just wanted to ask how you're doing. You've been through a lot, you know. Wanted to make sure you're coping ok."

Grissom stiffened, his jaw clenching as he pulled his arm away from Ecklie. "I'm fine," he said harshly, "Thank you for your concern. Now if you'll excuse me…"

Once again, he moved to continue on down the hall, but Ecklie's voice stopped him. "I heard you had a bit of an accident last night in the morgue, Gil."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Grissom snapped, spinning around to find Ecklie right there in front of him. He was feeling both fear and anger as he stared at his dayshift counterpart; why did his 'accident' concern Ecklie? And more importantly, how the hell did he know?

At the obvious anger on Grissom's face, Ecklie's smirk became more pronounced. "I think you know what I'm talking about."

"No, actually," Grissom replied stubbornly, "I don't think I do." This time, he forced himself to turn and walk away. He was very proud himself for resisting the urge to use his fist to carve a hole from one side of Ecklie's face to the other.

"You aren't going to be able to pretend everything's all right forever, Gil. Sooner or later you'll have to admit you need help."

Sara, standing about halfway down the hall, felt herself go cold inside when she heard Ecklie's parting shot. How could he say that to Grissom? How the hell could he just _say _that?

She forced herself to calm down however as Grissom went storming past her and disappeared into his office, slamming the door behind him. One of them had to have their head on straight and it appeared that, for the time being, it would have to be Sara.

"You ok?" Sara let herself into Grissom's office, keeping her movements slow and her voice soft. She almost smiled as she realized she was approaching him as though he were a wild animal. She _would_ have smiled, if the situation hadn't been so serious.

He stood at the other end of the room, arms folded firmly across his chest. Sara could see how tense he was from the door, and she sighed. "Grissom?"

"How did he know?"

"What?"

Grissom whirled to face her, anger on his face and in every line of his body. "He knew about what happened yesterday!" he yelled. "How did he know? You said you wouldn't tell anybody!"

Sara frowned at that, and felt herself getting angry as well. "I didn't tell anybody, Grissom," she snapped. "I said I wouldn't, and I didn't!"

"Well then _how the hell did he know?_"

"I don't know," Sara replied. She was trying to keep her temper in check, but she wasn't having much luck. "David saw it; he told Catherine. It might have leaked out…"

"Great, so now the whole lab knows!" Grissom exploded. "God damn it, Sara, I don't want the whole lab gossiping about my personal life! It was supposed to stay quiet."

"Grissom…"

"It's bad enough that everyone thinks I'm going to go nuts on them. I don't _need_ this right now!"

Grissom knew that he was being unfair to Sara. He was blaming her for something that wasn't her fault. He was probably hurting her more than she would ever admit, as well, but he couldn't stop. His rage had taken over him, and when he saw the anger on her face as well all he could think was that he had to wipe that look off her face. She had no right to be angry with him.

And then, as he continued to yell, the anger disappeared from her face to be replaced by pain and an awful sadness that ripped into him.

_You've hurt her again,_ the little voice in his head murmured, and he flinched. His angry tirade came to an abrupt end as she pulled back from him.

Without a word, she started towards the door, and Grissom froze. He wanted to tell her to stay, to apologize, but his mouth was dry, and wouldn't seem to work. _Please stay,_ he begged her silently. _Please don't leave me._

Her hand was on the doorknob now, and an inexplicable fear ripped through him. A sharp, stabbing pain grew in his chest, and his office spun before him as he realized he couldn't breathe. _Sara!_ He wanted to call her name, but he couldn't. God it hurt. Why did it hurt so much? _Breathe, _he thought frantically, _just breathe. You're all right. _But he couldn't breathe. He wasn't all right. His chest hurt so badly, and everything was going dark…

Sara was almost out the door when Grissom gave a strangled gasp behind her. She was going to ignore it, and leave him here until he had cooled down somewhat, but then she realized that something really was wrong. Turning, she paled as she caught sight of him. His whole body was shaking, and he was hyperventilating, his eyes wide with fear.

Sara grabbed him as his knees gave out, holding onto him until she had managed to pull a chair over and sit him down.

"It's all right, Grissom," she murmured soothingly, rubbing a hand over his back. Though she was as scared as him by the outbreak, and was almost hyperventilating herself, she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths.

"Grissom, I want you to breathe with me," she told him, hoping he could hear her as he fought for breath. "Just focus on me, Grissom."

Grissom locked into the rhythm of Sara's breathing, his hand tightening its grip on her sleeve as another stab of pain hit him hard.

"It's all right," he heard her murmur again, and he closed his eyes against the many emotions he felt as he realized she was as scared as he was.

It took a few minutes, but finally his body obeyed him again. His hands still shook slightly, but he was able to maintain a steady pace of breathing, and the pain subsided to a dull ache.

With a shaky sigh, he pulled back from Sara. "I'm sorry," he whispered, ashamed.

Sara gave him a weak smile. "You're forgiven. For yelling, anyways; you don't have to apologize for what just happened."

Grissom looked away, and Sara frowned in frustration. "Grissom, it's not your fault."

"I shouldn't have…"

"Shouldn't have what? Acted like a human being?" Sara retorted. "As if you could have acted any other way."

"Sara, you don't understand," Grissom said quietly, but she cut him off again.

"You're right, Grissom, I don't understand. I never will understand, but that doesn't mean I don't care. It doesn't mean I can just sit back and pretend that this all doesn't make a difference to me, and it doesn't mean that I'm going to let you just ignore this and hope it goes away. That isn't going to happen, Grissom, no matter how badly you wish it would."

There was a long moment of silence as Sara waited for Grissom to say something. He didn't, and he refused to look her in the eye. In the end, Sara decided it would be best to leave him alone for a bit. Leaning forward, she gently touched his face, trying not to frown as he flinched.

"I'm going to get to work on our case, Grissom," she said as she stood. "I'll be in the layout room. Whenever you're ready… You'll need to pass out assignments soon, too. Shift starts in a few minutes." With that, she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and left his office.

* * *

As she sat in the quiet of the layout room, going over the photos and the notes that Greg had taken at the crime scene, Sara tried to push all thoughts of Grissom to the back of her head. Needless to say, it wasn't working.

_He's having panic attacks, _she scolded herself, _aren't you going to do something about it?_

_No,_ was her reply as she stared hard at a photograph of the victims. _Not yet. He needs some time. _

_What are you waiting for, a sign from God? You want him to pass out in front of you before you'll do anything? Oh, wait, forgot, he's already passed out. So you want him to admit he needs help, so you can say 'I told you so.' That's it, isn't it?_

_No! I just want… God, I don't know what I want. I want him to be all right. I want things to be back to normal. _

Sara's conversation with herself was brought to a halt as Grissom chose that moment to inch his way into the room, a thinly veiled look of trepidation in his eyes.

"Uh, hey," he murmured.

"Hey," Sara replied absently, trying to act as though everything were normal. "Come to help me solve the case, Watson?"

Grissom tried to force his lips into some semblance of a smile, but failed miserably. With a sigh, he shrugged and pulled up a stool beside her. "Find anything?"

Sara shook her head. "Not yet, but here's the mold of our vics skull." Handing him the piece of evidence, she turned her gaze back to the pictures before her.

As he studied the mold, Grissom frowned. The shape of it looked familiar… And then suddenly he remembered. "Sara, this mold looks exactly like the ring that was on the neighbour's hand."

"Hmmm?"

"The mold," Grissom repeated impatiently, "it's shaped the same as the neighbour's ring."

With a frown, he began shuffling the pictures that were laid out, searching for the one he wanted. "Where is it," he muttered, frowning.

"What are you looking for, Grissom?" Sara asked. "Maybe I can help."

"Pictures of the neighbour's hands…"

It was Sara's turn to frown. "Grissom, I've been through these photos a hundred times; there aren't any pictures like that."

"What?" Grissom stared at her. "Of course there are; why wouldn't there be? We took swabs from his knuckles, it only makes sense we would have…" he trailed off suddenly as he thought back. "We would have taken the ring, too."

"There's no ring with the evidence, Grissom," Sara said.

There was a tense silence for a moment, and then Grissom got to his feet. Turning, he strode out of the room; Sara was forced to jog to catch up as he made his way to Greg's DNA lab. Greg, unfortunately, had chosen to come in a few minutes early, and now he cowered under Grissom's furious gaze.

"Why didn't you take pictures of the neighbour's hands?"

"Grissom, I…"

"Wasn't it obvious that you would need to? We took swabs, Greg; he said he came into contact with our killer. How could you not think to take pictures? And you didn't get his ring, either!"

"I'm sorry! You didn't tell me to so I just…"

"Don't try and blame this on me, Greg. The pictures were your responsibility."

Greg suddenly seemed to process what was going on, and he stood up, his face turning as red as Grissom's. "I know this is partly my fault," Greg snapped, "but it sure as hell isn't completely my fault. You were supposed to be supervising me, Grissom. You were supposed to be telling me what to do, but you were so frickin' out of your mind you couldn't even think straight. I was too busy looking out for you to be trying to figure out the God damn procedures."

As soon as he had said it, Greg froze. He couldn't believe what he had just done. Breathing hard, he waited for Grissom to blow up; waited to hear the words 'you're fired.' But they never came, and when he finally worked up the courage to look Grissom in the eye he didn't see fury there. All he saw was fear, and pain, and realization. Then, suddenly, that look was gone, and Grissom was like stone.

"I trusted you to come out in the field, and you blew it," he said hoarsely. "Don't think you're going to be seeing anything but the inside of this lab for a long time."

Turning, Grissom walked out of the room, leaving a stunned Greg and Sara behind him.

"Sara," Greg blurted, "I didn't mean… I didn't mean to say that!"

"Take it easy, Greg, it's all right," she soothed, giving him a pat on the shoulder as she turned and ran out of the lab after Grissom.

* * *

Grissom ignored the looks people shot his way as he hurried through the hallways of the lab; his only thought was to get out. He had to get out.

He took the stairs to the roof two at a time, and when he reached the top he was out of breath and light-headed.

"Shit!" he swore as kicked the concrete ledge that surrounded him. It sent a dull shock up his leg, but he didn't pay attention as he continued to kick it. This couldn't be happening to him. He had been so sure that he would get back to work, and everything would be ok. Work was his distraction. If he just spent enough time immersing himself in it, he would forget what had happened and everything would go back to normal. But now it was affecting his job. Greg had been right; it wasn't his fault. It was Grissom's fault. He had been in no condition to return to work, but he had insisted. If he had even been thinking half-straight he would at least have taken a seasoned investigator with him to do the heavy work, but no, he had to take Greg, because Greg wouldn't ask questions. He had screwed up, badly, both with the case and with Greg. _Well, things look good for you now, Gil,_ he thought angrily. _What kind of a guy tries to pin his own mistakes on a poor kid like Greg?_ _All he ever tried to do was help you, and you turn around and use him and then screw him over. Real nice, Gil._

"Shit!" he swore again.

"Swearing doesn't become you, Grissom."

He whirled at Sara's voice, feeling anger race through him as he found her right behind him. "Don't sneak up on me like that," he snapped. Why the hell did she have to follow him everywhere?

"I didn't sneak up, Grissom," she said calmly, "You were just too busy trying to knock over the building to hear me."

Grissom didn't reply, so Sara continued. "I'm going to guess you were beating yourself up for freaking out at Greg."

"Sara, go away," he growled.

"So I'm right. You want to tell me about it?"

"No."

Gently, Sara turned him to face her, and he was suddenly too tired to resist. "You realized that if anyone is to blame for this, it has to be you, because you were the one who insisted on working the scene, even though you knew you weren't up to it. And you were the one who insisted on taking Greg, even though you knew he was a rookie who would need to be watched."

"Sara, it's not like that," Grissom protested, but she shook her head.

"Don't, Grissom. I'm not angry. Just disappointed that you thought you could get away with this."

They stood silently for a moment, Grissom's eyes closed to hide his pain. Then, almost involuntarily, he leaned into her, wanting to be held.

Sara was surprised at first, but she hid it well, and carefully wrapped her arms around him.

"I didn't," Grissom whispered.

"Didn't what?" Sara asked, her voice a whisper as well.

"Didn't know I wasn't up to it. Not really. I thought work would distract me, not remind me of it."

With a sigh, Sara rubbed her hand over his back.

Finally, she spoke. "I don't think you should work tonight, Grissom. You have a lot of paper work to catch up on that should probably keep you busy; I'll keep going on our case. And I think… I think you should apologize to Greg. He needs to know that you understand it wasn't his fault. And I think you need to do it for yourself, as well."

Grissom didn't reply.

"Grissom?"

"Just… give me a minute," he murmured, and Sara could practically hear the tears in his voice as he trembled slightly in her arms.

"All right," she reassured him, continuing to rub his back, "Just take your time."

It was so strange standing there, holding Grissom like that, that she felt fear rising in her. The Grissom she knew would never do this; he would never allow her to touch him, let alone hug him and comfort him. The Grissom she knew would never talk to her like this.

This whole thing was making her realize just how little any of them knew or understood Grissom, and the feeling that accompanied those realizations wasn't pleasant.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Grissom pulled away.

"Ready to go?" she asked softly, straightening the collar on his shirt.

Grissom nodded, and rubbed his sleeve over his face. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, "Let's go."

As they made their way down from the roof, Sara almost wished they could just stay up there forever. Up there, everything was simple.


	8. Chapter 8: Interrogation

Chapter 8: Interrogation

Greg was just waiting for the printout for the blood samples that he and Grissom had collected from their crime scene when he sensed someone watching him. Glancing up, he was surprised to find Grissom standing in the doorway. There was an air of uncertainty about him, as though he were afraid to take the next step that would put him in Greg's domain.

"You coming in or what?" Greg asked, taking care to keep his voice neutral.

Grissom swallowed his irritated response, and stepped into the lab. "Greg…" He trailed off as Greg turned back to his desk. It wasn't very often that the supervisor was unsure of himself at work.

"I'm listening," the lab tech assured him, so Grissom continued.

"I'm sorry, for earlier."

Greg gave a harsh laugh, and Grissom flinched.

"Look at you," Greg said, shaking his head. He felt the sudden need to get this out; to clear the air and make sure Grissom understood how things were where Greg was concerned. "You stand there, and tell me you're sorry, but what the hell is this really about? You're just trying to hold yourself together, and I hate to break it to you, but it sure as hell isn't working. Gris, you're falling apart at the seams."

"Greg…"

"Seriously, Grissom, you need to stop avoiding the facts and do something, before you go nuts for real."

There was dead silence for a long moment, and then Greg shrugged. "But that's just what I think, and I'm just a lab tech, you know, so…"

Grissom cut him off suddenly, his voice tired, his whole body seeming to sag with exhaustion as he shook his head. "I know, Greg," he said softly. His eyes begged the lab tech to understand. "Really, I do. It's just… I can't…" he sighed in frustration, unable to find to words, and Greg gave a small, hesitant smile.

"I get it," he said. And even though it was a lie, he felt so much better for saying it when he saw the look or relief that passed over Grissom's face.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a whirring sound, and the printout for their blood samples popped out of the machine. Lifting it from the tray, Greg held it out to Grissom.

"Results," he said. He frowned as Grissom reached out to take it, and then froze.

"Gris? What is it?"

Grissom didn't respond. He remembered Sara's words from the rooftop. _I don't think you should work tonight, Grissom. You have a lot of paperwork to catch up on that should keep you busy; I'll keep going on our case._

_But you never actually agreed,_ he argued with himself. _You never actually told her you wouldn't work the case._

"Grissom?" Greg's voice interrupted his reasoning, and he glanced absently at the worried lab tech, not really seeing him.

"She's just trying to help," he mumbled to himself.

Greg's frown deepened. "What?"

"Nothing." Another long moment passed, and then Grissom sighed and pulled back, his hand falling to his side. "I'm off the case," he murmured, forcing himself to meet Greg's inquiring gaze and keep his voice free of emotion. "You need to give that to Sara." Without another word, he turned and left the room.

Greg stared after his supervisor, the paper still clutched in his hand. Then a small smile flickered across his face. "Maybe he's figuring it out," he said softly to himself. Then the smile faded, and he sighed as he paged Sara. "Or maybe he's just finding better ways to make us think he's dealing with it."

* * *

"What are you telling me, Greg?" Sara's voice was impatient as she stared at the printout before her. "Our friendly neighbour isn't so friendly after all?" 

Greg shrugged. "I guess. He said he got a piece of the killer, but it looks like he might very well be the killer. Blood from his knuckles matches the vic."

Sara let out a breath and folded her arms across her chest. "What do you think?"

Frowning, Greg cocked his head at her. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think about this – the blood matching the victims, and Grissom going on about that ring?"

Greg shrugged again. "After he mentioned it, I did remember that ring. And I took a look at the pictures of the guy's skull earlier – the wound and the ring are the same shape."

Nodding, Sara pursed her lips. "All right, so let's talk it out. Henderson wife's gone, so he brings home a hooker; blows off his neighbour and his other buddies for a night with his new 'friend.'"

"Goes over to ask why," Greg added, "and finds the two vics upstairs, in the bedroom…"

"You know," Sara cut in, "that wound was pretty ugly looking. This guy would have to be…"

"Huge?"

Sara smiled. "Strong. How big are we talking, Greg? In terms that I can understand, please – 'huge' is kind of vague, if you know what I mean."

Pursing his lips, Greg squinted and eyed her up and down. Warrick walked into the room and Greg smiled. "Maybe… two inches taller than Warrick," he said.

Warrick raised an eyebrow at him, and then at Sara. "Uh, I'm six feet two inches," he informed them at their pointed looks.

Greg nodded. "All right, so he was around six four, and he looked like he'd worked out every day of his life. The guy could have been on steroids."

"So he was strong enough to run his fist through Henderson's skull," Sara murmured. "So he finds them upstairs… punches Henderson in the back of the head, which incapacitates him, but doesn't kill him. Henderson was on top of the hooker, so his body stopped her from getting away…"

Greg nodded. "Yeah. And Henderson's face is pushed into the pillow; he's unconscious, so he suffocates. Then the woman – Kathleen Marley – gets a pillow shoved in her face as well while he pulls out a knife and goes nuts stabbing them."

Sara frowned. "A pillow, Greg?"

Greg raised an eyebrow at Sara. "Come on, Sara. A feather in Henderson's throat? The feather pillows at the scene had teeth marks in them, and blood all over them. I took pictures."

He smiled wryly. "I remembered that much."

"I didn't see any of those pictures, Greg," Sara said concernedly, "Are you sure?"

Greg nodded. "Positive, Sara." Then he sent her a sideways glance as he turned back to his desk. "Maybe you just didn't see them because you were too busy thinking about how long Grissom's been having panic attacks."

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Sara exploded, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her.

Warrick grabbed her arm in turn and pulled her away. "Hey, take it easy Sara," he warned as he kept his grip on her. When she had relaxed and settled for merely glaring at Greg from a distance, he released her. Then he swallowed. "Sara, what's he talking about? Grissom's been having panic attacks?"

"It's nothing, Rick," Sara said stubbornly, folding her arms.

Warrick gritted his teeth. "God damn it, Sara," he snapped, "You're not helping him by pretending everything's ok. And you're not the only one who cares! He's my friend, too, and I was just as scared as you were when I found out what had happened."

Sara bit her lip. Then she shoved her hands in her pockets and rested her head against the wall. "He was fine when we got here earlier; I even got him to eat something. But then we met up with Ecklie. He's such a bastard," she said bitterly. "He tried to get a reaction out of Grissom by mentioning the incident in the morgue yesterday." She glanced up at the two guys, who both nodded.

"Catherine told us," Warrick murmured.

Sara sighed. "Then he said 'you aren't going to be able to pretend everything's all right forever, Gil. Sooner or later you'll have to admit you need help.'" She sighed again in frustration. "I mean, I know he's right. Obviously, he's right, but coming from him… it's not friendly advice, Warrick. He's trying to get a reaction out of Grissom, make him lose it. After that he was all pissed off, and we got in a fight and he had this panic attack. He couldn't breathe. He was so freaked out that he almost fainted. What if loses it, Warrick? What if he keeps denying it and one day just can't handle it anymore?"

"Hey," Warrick said soothingly, rubbing her arm, "Take it easy. That's not gonna happen, all right? We won't let that happen."

Sara nodded. "I know," she murmured, "I just get scared sometimes."

With a weak smile, Warrick agreed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It was hard enough figuring Grissom out before all this."

They were silent for a moment, and then Sara looked at Greg. "How did you know?" she asked softly.

Greg shot her a worried glance. "You really want to know?"

Sara gave him a look that left no question.

He sighed. "Gossip, Sara, gossip. The rumour mill's been working overtime since Grissom got back; everyone knows everything."

Sara swore. "God damn it. That means Cavallo and Atwater might find out."

Greg shrugged, an apologetic look on his face. "I'd stop them from talking if I could. I know what this could do to Grissom as well as you guys."

"Hey guys, you coming? Grissom's got assignments in the break room." They all looked up in surprise as Catherine's voice interrupted, and she frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing," Warrick said, shrugging.

Catherine's frown deepened, but she let it go at that. "Well, hurry up. I want to get through tonight with everybody in one piece."

She disappeared down the hall, and Warrick glanced at his two companions, shrugged, and followed the blonde.

Sara started to go after him, but then paused when she realized Greg was still sitting at his desk. "You coming?"

Greg shook his head. "I'm grounded to my lab, remember?"

Sara laughed. "No you're not, Greg, you're with me."

"But Grissom…"

"Hey," she said, "Let me handle Grissom, all right?"

Greg still looked doubtful, but when Sara left he was right behind her as they jogged to catch up with Warrick and Catherine.

* * *

Nick and Grissom were already at the break room when they got there. Nick looked up when he heard them come in. 

Putting a finger to his lips, he nodded towards Grissom. It was only then that they realized their supervisor wasn't really with them. He sat, his elbows resting on the table, palms flat against it; the night's assignments were trapped beneath his right hand. His head was down, and he stared at the smooth surface before him, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of fear and an emotion they couldn't quite place.

How long? Catherine mouthed at Nick.

The Texan shook his head, and held up four fingers. Four minutes.

Catherine grimaced, and glanced at Grissom again. "Gris?" she said softly. He didn't respond. "Gil!"

He snapped to at that, and shook his head as though to clear it. "Sorry," he muttered as he glanced down at the assignment slips, "I guess I zoned out for a minute there."

"Uh, yeah," Nick said softly, "Just for a minute."

Grissom didn't appear to have heard, though, as he shuffled the papers for a minute, lost in his own world, a confused scowl on his face. "Catherine, Warrick, you need something to do, right?" he asked hesitantly, unsure of where everyone was at.

They nodded simultaneously as Warrick spoke up. "The paperwork from the other night's on your desk already."

"All right," Grissom muttered. He was silent for a minute, and then he shook himself. "Nicky, what about you?" He hated not knowing what was going on.

"Uh, yeah, paperwork for my B&E's pending." He grinned at Grissom's raised eyebrow. "I'll have it on your desk before shift is over, all right?"

"Sure," Grissom muttered, already distracted as he once again went through the assignments. He couldn't seem to focus. Finally, he figured out what he wanted to do and handed Catherine a slip. "Cath, you get a trick roll."

"Oh, give me a break, Grissom," she whined, "You can't be serious!"

"I am serious, Catherine," he replied as he shoved the paper into her hand.

"Why can't you give it to the kids over there?" She motioned to Warrick and Nick who protested indignantly.

Grissom just smiled and shook his head. "Get off your soapbox, Catherine," he told her before he turned a deaf ear to her pleas and handed a slip off to Nick. "You and Warrick get a DB downtown, Fremont District. Suspicious circs."

"All right," Nick crowed as he and Warrick slapped high-fives.

Grissom ignored them as he looked up at Sara for a second before glancing back down at his notes so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes. "Uh, Sara, you're working on that DB from the other night, correct?"

"Yeah," Sara replied, frowning as she eyed him.

"What's going on with that?"

"Uh, Greg and I have got a lead, and a suspect. We're gonna phone Brass as soon as we're done here, see if he can set up an interview."

Grissom glanced up. "Greg?" he said, frowning.

The lab tech held his breath, but Grissom only sighed, and shook his head. "All right. Sure." Then he stood, a couple of files tucked securely under his arm. "I'll be in my office if anybody needs me."

"What?" Catherine said, turning from the coffee pot, but he was already gone. She turned to the rest of the group. "He's not working on a case?"

A shrug ran through the group before Sara nodded. "He's gonna spend the night catching up on paperwork," she informed them. She met Catherine's eyes, and the blonde raised an eyebrow.

You've been talking to him, her gaze said.

Sara raised an eyebrow back. Damn right.

Nick groaned. "Not even gonna ask," he stated, raising a hand. "We'll see you guys later." He and Warrick headed out.

Sara glanced at Greg, and nodded after the other two guys. "Hey Greg, why don't you go and finish up whatever needs doing in your lab, and I'll meet you there in a minute."

Greg rolled his eyes. "All right, I get it, I get it, you don't want me here when you discuss whatever you need to discuss. Which is probably Grissom, but…" As he wandered off down the hall his voice faded out, but they couldn't help but grin at each other; it was a safe bet that he was still talking.

"So…" Catherine didn't need to say anything else.

"We discussed it, and decided it would be better if he stuck around the lab today and didn't work a case."

_"We?"_ Catherine looked doubtful.

Sara smiled. "Ok, so I decided. But he agreed."

The older woman nodded. "Well, that's good. I guess. What happened earlier?" Her look became serious. "I saw the bandage on his hand, Sara. Everyone else did, too. We were just smart enough not to say anything."

Sara sighed at that and shook her head. "Honestly? I don't know. When I woke up he was in the shower, and when he got out it was like that. He tried to hide it; kept it in his pocket."

Catherine frowned. "You push him about it?"

"I was going to, but when he finally agreed to let me take him to the doctors I decided to leave him alone."

"For now, anyways," Catherine said, and Sara shrugged in agreement, a smile flickering over her face.

"For now."

* * *

Half an hour later Sara, Greg and Brass stood outside interrogation room one; 'the neighbour,' Jarrett Taylor, waited inside. When he had walked in, Sara had smiled to herself. He still wore the ring, and she noted that Greg and Grissom had been right. It looked like it would fit perfectly into the wound on their vic's skull. 

"Did you get a warrant, Jim?" she asked, and Brass shook his head.

"Nope, sorry."

Sara shrugged. "I didn't think so. No judge would hand one over with the evidence we have. Or lack of evidence, I guess."

Brass nodded. "Well, see if you can bluff him; make him think we've got him dead to rights." He smiled. "Maybe he'll cave when you show him the evidence."

Sara smiled back at him. "You're very deceptive, Jim," she said.

"Always," he replied. Then, as she turned towards the door, Brass stopped her. "Just take it easy, Sara. If he lawyers up we're screwed." They exchanged glances; both knew that the case was a mess. If Jarrett couldn't be trapped and forced to confess, the case might very well never get to trial. And they both knew that most of this mess had been caused by Grissom's serious lack of judgement.

As Sara and Brass entered the interrogation room, Greg disappeared into the observation room. Sara wasn't comfortable having him in the interrogation room. After all, he wasn't really a proper CSI yet, and while she would allow him to work this case with her, she wouldn't be assigning him any big duties. If she had been at the crime scene with Greg and Grissom, there would have been no way that the lab tech would have been processing that scene. But then, if Grissom had been thinking straight, he never would have allowed Greg to process either.

Forcing her mind back to the task at hand, Sara took a seat at the table, opposite Taylor. He was a big guy, just as Greg had said; he wore a t-shirt, and Sara could see that tattoos covered every visible inch of skin. Other than that, however, he looked perfectly respectable. His curly black hair was cut short, and his clothes were neat and well-fitting. And Greg had apparently exaggerated when he said the guy looked as though he were on steroids. He was muscular, but not overly so.

As Brass took up his regular position by the wall, Sara introduced herself and placed a tape recorder on the table, explaining that she would be recording the conversation.

"Mr. Taylor, I assume you know why you're here?" she began.

"This is about Larry, isn't it?"

Sara nodded, and glanced down at her notes. "Do you understand your rights?"

"Huh?"

Sara sighed. "Your Miranda rights, Mr. Taylor. You have the right to have an attorney present during this questioning. You don't have to say anything without legal counsel."

"Do I need an attorney?" he questioned, a bit confused.

Sara kept her voice calm and her face blank as she stared straight at him. "I don't know. Do you?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched. Sara held her breath.

"No, I don't," he stated firmly. "I'm not guilty of anything."

Hiding her relief, Sara continued "Can you recount what happened the night Mr. Henderson was killed, please, Mr. Taylor?"

Taylor frowned. "I already gave my statement to the police officers."

Once again, Sara nodded. "I know, but I'd like to hear it from you."

With an awkward shrug, the man leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Yeah, whatever, sure." He quickly repeated his version of events; it was exactly the same as the story he'd told police officers at the scene.

"Ok, thank you," Sara murmured when he was finished. "Is there anything you want to add, Mr. Taylor? Anything you might have remembered since the last time you talked with the police?"

He looked confused for a second, shaking his head. "Uh, no, that's it."

Sara nodded. "All right then." She paused for a moment, and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "The evidence says you're lying."

"What the hell?" Taylor blurted.

Sara continued as though he hadn't said anything. "Larry Henderson's blood was on your knuckles."

"Yeah," he sputtered, "I touched the body."

"You specifically told police – and me just a minute ago – that the blood on your knuckles came from the killer."

Taylor's mouth opened and closed as he stared at them in disbelief. "Maybe I got confused," he finally said as he looked down. "Maybe the guy didn't bleed when I hit him."

"All right," Sara nodded, "Then explain to me why your ring is imprinted in Mr. Henderson's skull?"

"Maybe I should…"

"Why'd you do it?" Sara cut in.

"I didn't do it! I want to…"

"Mr. Henderson was your neighbour. I thought you told us he was your friend?" Against the wall, Brass took a sharp breath. Sara was playing a dangerous game, toying with this guy. She wasn't allowing him the time to say he wanted council; she kept cutting him off, diverting his attention.

"He was my friend," Taylor snapped.

"Then why'd you kill him?"

"I didn't!"

"Come on, Taylor. We have you dead to rights. You killed your buddy and his hooker friend; the evidence will land you in jail for life."

"No."

"Yes. You killed them for no reason."

It seemed the last statement got to Taylor, and he exploded.

"I had a good reason!" he bellowed. "I had a God damn good reason! That son of a bitch, cheating on Samantha like that! He had no right. She was a good wife; a good person."

Sara's eyebrows went up in surprise at the rage on his face. "You killed them because you thought he was wrong to cheat on his wife?"

"Damn right!" he yelled. "Do you know how much this is going to hurt Samantha? To find out that he hired a hooker? You have no idea how awful that can make a person feel."

Sara shook her head. "No more awful than finding out that your neighbour killed your husband while you were away," she said icily.


	9. Chapter 9: Phillip Kane

Chapter 9: Phillip Kane

Grissom's head ache was just about ready to turn into another full-blown migraine. He had hoped that by staying away from the case and catching up on his paperwork instead he would be able to avoid any more stress, but it turned out that working the case might have been better for him after all. He still couldn't concentrate, and he hadn't even managed to get through half of the stack in front of him. Every once in a while some noise outside the office would catch his attention and he would glance up, or his mind would wander off. Mostly it wandered off to Sara… he shook his head. He couldn't think about that.

With a frustrated sigh, he turned back to the paper in front of him and scanned it. It was only when he went to sign at the bottom that he realized he had no idea what it had said.

"God damn it," he snapped. Angrily, he threw down his pen and pushed away from his desk so hard that his chair hit the shelves behind him. Luckily, nothing fell; though even if it had, Grissom probably wouldn't have noticed.

He dropped his head to his hands, groaning. Why the hell was this happening to him?

* * *

"That was great, the way you got him like that," Greg said as he and Sara pulled out of the diner parking lot and headed back to the lab. After the interrogation, Sara had realized that she was hungry again, so she and Greg had decided to head out and grab something to eat. She had gotten another vegetarian burger for Grissom as well, since he appeared to have enjoyed the last one. She also figured that if she didn't feed him he wouldn't eat. 

"I can't believe he lost it so easily," Greg continued, and Sara shrugged.

"Some people can't handle pressure," she said, "and apparently he was one of those people."

"Yeah, I guess." With that, Greg began to root around in the bag for his burger and fries. Sara grimaced when he pulled it out.

"All right, Greg," she said, shaking her head, "I generously allowed you to buy that, but there is no way you're eating it in my car."

Greg scowled at her. "Oh, come on," he whined, "You bought two burgers!"

"Vegetarian burgers, Greg," she pointed out, and he sighed. Then suddenly he raised his eyebrow, and turned to look at her, a smile creeping over his face.

"Is the second burger for Grissom?"

Sara frowned at him. "Yeah, so?"

"I dunno," he said slowly, smiling. "I think it's just… sweet of you."

"Oh, don't you even think it Greg Sanders," she warned as she pulled into her parking spot. "We're friends, nothing more."

"Of course," Greg conceded, "But that doesn't mean you don't wish it were more."

Sara glanced over at him, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but then she saw his face and realized he wasn't making fun of her. She sighed. "Yeah, well I can dream, can't I? It's never gonna happen."

Even though they were back at the lab, neither made a move to get out of the vehicle as Greg spoke. "Then why do you keep hanging around waiting for him?"

Sara shrugged. "I have a lot of patience. Or maybe I'm just dumb."

"You're not dumb," Greg stated firmly, and Sara couldn't help but smile at his quick correction of her statement. "I think it's amazing, what you're doing," the lab tech suddenly admitted.

Frowning, Sara glanced over at him questioningly.

"Sticking with him even after all that's happened," Greg clarified. "I mean, he was hard enough to get along with before, but now… I just think you're a really good friend, to be there for him like you are. Even if he can't see how great you are to him, the rest of us can. And he does need you. Always has."

For a moment Sara could only stare at him in shock. Then she blushed and looked down. "Thanks, Greg," she murmured, "Thanks a lot."

Her embarrassment made Greg smile, and he merely shrugged in response to the appreciation and got out of the SUV. "Come on," he called over his shoulder, "I want to sit down and eat this before I have to get back to work."

* * *

As they walked down the hall towards Grissom's office together, Sara glanced at Greg. "Do you want to come with me?" she asked. "To tell Grissom we got the guy." 

"Nah," Greg shook his head, "I think Grissom's had about as much of me as he can handle in one day." He laughed at the weird look Sara shot his way. "I need to get back to my lab soon, anyways. I'm sure I'll have some samples to work on by the time I finish eating."

"All right," Sara smiled, "I guess I'll see you later."

She watched as Greg disappeared down the hall before she knocked lightly on Grissom's office door and pushed her way in.

"Hey, Gris," she began, but stopped as he lifted his head wearily from his hands. His brow was furrowed in frustration, and his mouth was set in a hard, irritated line.

"What?" he muttered.

Sara cocked her head to the side as she studied him, and refrained from commenting on his worn appearance as she lifted the bag she held for him to see.

He frowned. "What's…"

"Lunch, Grissom," she interrupted as she pulled up a chair in front of his desk and handed a burger to him. He didn't look at all pleased, but Sara ignored him as she took out her own lunch and began eating.

"Sara, we just ate," he informed her as he placed the food on his desk.

Sara shrugged, and swallowed before answering. "That was a couple of hours ago, Grissom, and I was hungry again. I figured while I was at it I'd pick something up for you." She smiled as his frown deepened. "Relax, Gris, you don't have to eat it now. You can save if for later, you know."

"Sure, whatever," he mumbled, and Sara realized he hadn't been frowning at her. Putting down her burger, she leaned forward to so she could see what he was looking at. It was a case review; one of Catherine's and Warrick's.

"What's the problem?" she asked.

"No problem," came his response, but she could sense how on edge he was, and after a moment of hesitation she reached forward and closed the file folder.

When he glanced up, a sharp retort on his tongue, he stopped at her calm gaze.

"Take a break, Grissom. You've been working for a long time."

Grissom huffed a short laugh, and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. "Not like I've gotten anything done."

Sara shrugged. "Oh well, maybe that means you really do need a break."

Grissom didn't respond, and Sara followed him with worried eyes as he stood from his desk and went to stretch out on his couch.

"Tired?" she asked.

"A little," he muttered, and his hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he tried to ward off his headache again.

Ignoring the little voice in her head that screamed _he never admits it when he's tired, _Sara leaned back in her chair. "Didn't sleep last night?"

Her prodding got a reaction out of Grissom, who turned to stare at her so quickly she thought for sure his neck would snap. "What?" he blurted.

Sara raised an eyebrow at him like he was crazy. "I just asked if you slept last night," she said, pretending to be confused.

He studied her suspiciously, but she retained her composure. After a minute he decided she wasn't pulling his leg and relaxed again. "I slept," he said shortly, "Just not long enough."

"Ahhhh," Sara nodded in understanding. Then she smiled. "Well, I slept very well, thank you."

Grissom scowled at her, but didn't say anything. Realizing that he wasn't very comfortable with that topic, Sara took a sip of her drink before turning back to him. "You were right, about the neighbour," she said, glancing at him surreptitiously.

"Mmmm," he replied. It was painfully obvious that he had no idea what she had said, and didn't really care.

Sara shrugged to herself, and focused on her food. If she was lucky, maybe he would fall asleep.

Five minutes later, Sara could have sworn her wish had come true, but then a knock sounded on the office door and Grissom sat up with a start. Groaning, he stood and made his way back to his desk. "Come in."

It was a surprise to them both when the door opened to reveal Dr. Phillip Kane.

The heavy-set man smiled warmly at the two of them as he made his way into the office, and Sara returned the gesture, but Grissom merely sat perfectly still in his seat, face frozen into some semblance of disbelief.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Gil," Kane said, holding out his hand to the scientist.

Shaking himself, Grissom rose from his seat and took the offered hand. "Uh, yeah, yeah, I guess it has." He hated the fact that his hand was trembling the tiniest bit, and he pulled away as soon as he could. "What can I do for you?" He didn't really need to ask; he knew exactly what his old friend wanted. And it was just for that reason that he added on at the end, "Sara and I were just going over a case." It was a complete lie, and they all knew it, but Grissom couldn't help it; maybe he thought that Kane would believe him and leave. At least then he would have enough time to collect himself.

No such luck, however; Kane regarded Grissom thoughtfully, and then sighed. "Gil…"

"I'm doing fine, Phillip," he said calmly.

"I realize you don't think you need me, Gil, but I'd still like to speak with you."

Sensing that if she stayed she'd piss off Kane, and if she left she'd piss off Grissom, Sara hesitated for a moment. Then she rose to her feet. At least if she left, Grissom would be forced to talk with Kane; maybe it would help him.

"Gris, I'm going to go finish this in the break room. Come find me when you're done here, will you?"

"Sara," Grissom protested, but she only waved a bit, shot him what she hoped resembled an encouraging smile, and disappeared out the door.

Grissom couldn't help the way his jaw clenched as the door closed behind Sara. The click of the latch catching sent a shiver down his spine, and he tried his best to shrug it off. He was overreacting; this wasn't a big deal. But why the hell did she have to leave him right when he needed her the most?

"Gil?"

"Huh?" Grissom turned to stare at the doctor. He had zoned out again.

Kane raised an eyebrow at him. "I asked whether you wanted to do this here or in my office."

"I told you, we don't need to do this, I've already talked to someone," Grissom said, but at Kane's look, he realized he was going to have to. "Fine," he muttered, "let's just stay here. Do you want me to go lay down on the couch?" he added bitingly.

"Gil, you know I'm not here to attack you," Kane sighed, "I just want to talk a bit about what happened."

"So talk," Grissom said as he slumped wearily into his chair.

Kane sighed again. "Look, what happened to you and those other people was awful, everyone knows that. Nobody will think any less of you if you need some more time."

"I don't need some more time," came the irritated response.

"All right," Kane said with a shrug as he took Sara's vacated seat, "Your call. Let's get started. Would you like to tell me what happened that day?"

"No," Grissom said bluntly.

"Gil," Kane warned. "Let me rephrase that. Tell me about what happened that day. Please."

Grissom's eyes flickered all over his office; once again searching for a way out. Once again he found none, and dropped his eyes to the desk.

"Can I just… can I just ask you something, before we start this?" he said quietly.

"Anything."

"Why are you… why are you here?"

Kane leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, fingers tented under his chin. "Gil, I like to think that I'm a friend of yours…"

"Why did you come here, Phillip?"

Sighing, Kane dropped his hands and looked down. "Someone brought it to the attention of Director Cavallo that you've been having problems… getting back into the swing of things. But," he quickly added, "I've been meaning to come see you for a while now. I _am _your friend, and I wanted to make sure you were doing all right. Cavallo just brought about this visit a little bit quicker."

"Yeah, of course," Grissom muttered, waving his hand.

_Take is easy, Gil. Relax, _he told himself. _If you just relax and get this over with, you can get the hell out of here._

"Gil?"

Grissom's gaze snapped back to the doctor's face, and he tried not to grimace when he saw the concern there.

"Gil, do you normally… zone out… like that?"

Confused, Grissom shrugged. "Uh, I guess. Sometimes." Then he pressed his lips together in a hard, thin line. "When the company isn't all that captivating." He almost smiled when he saw how much he was irritating Kane, but held back. As much as he wanted the man to leave, he didn't like being on the fast track to losing a good friend; he had too few of them as it was. "Sorry," he muttered. "What was… the question again?"

Nodding his acceptance of the apology, Kane repeated his question. "I'd like you to tell me what happened the day of the robbery."

"It's all in the report." Grissom's last-ditch attempt to save himself was flattened by the look Kane sent his way.

"Gil…"

"All right," he sighed. "I just…"

As Kane watched, Grissom's whole body became still, and those blue eyes stared right through him. The scientist seemed lost as he started to speak, and Kane had to lean forward a bit to hear him.

"August seventeenth. It was my birthday. Catherine, Sara and the rest of the guys were having at party at Nicky's house." His lips twitched up in a small, vague smile. "They thought I didn't know it was going to be a birthday party…"

_

* * *

"Hey, Grissom, can you run out and some beer for us before you head to Nick's house?" _

_"Catherine, I told you I'm not coming to this party."_

_"Of course you are, Grissom, or you'll know why."_

_"Catherine…"_

_"Come on, Grissom, just get the beer. It's not a big deal. And you can run home while you're at it and get a shower and a change of clothes."_

_"What?"_

_"As Greg would say, you smell like death, Gil."_

* * *

"So you went to get the beer?" 

"Yes. I stopped at the small store near my townhouse on the way to Nicky's place. I went in and... headed towards the cashier's desk. The cashier was there, and a… an older woman, with her little boy. Some guy came in behind me…"

_

* * *

"Everybody get down on the floor or you're dead. Hurry up! Get the kid down too… _

_Get down, or I'll blow you away… _

_All right, if you do what we tell you, nobody will get hurt." _

* * *

Grissom's hands were shaking, and his heart was beating hard against his ribs. He was sure that Kane could hear it; he knew he couldn't hear Kane over the sound of it. 

"We were all… down on the floor. I remember… I remember thinking, 'are you just going to let this seventeen-year-old push you around, Gil?'"

Thinking about it now, Grissom almost laughed out loud. That seventeen-year-old had ruined the lives of three people… no, make that four. And he was still screwing with Grissom from the grave.

Shaking his head to clear it and folding his hands tightly on his lap, out of Kane's line of sight, Grissom continued. "He got everything he wanted; from the safe and the shelves… and then he pulled up a chair and sat down in front of us. Just sitting; watching..."

_

* * *

"Maybe I lied. How rude of me. I guess I should have told you the truth at the beginning but you know… I've always been a liar."_

* * *

"He shot the man… and then the little boy… and then the woman…"_

* * *

There was blood everywhere; on his face, his hands, his arms… it was everywhere. People were screaming. Why wasn't someone helping them? Someone had to help them. They were dieing; their blood was spilling out over him and there was nothing he could do. _

* * *

"Gil. Gil!" There were hands on the back of Grissom's neck, pushing his head down between his knees as he fought to breath. Someone was calling his name, but the voice was fuzzy and indistinct in his ears. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, and his chest hurt. 

"Sara," he gasped, but somehow he knew she wasn't there.

"Take deep breathes, Gil, deep breaths. Just relax."

_Yeah right, _Grissom thought bitterly, _I'll relax. I'll have plenty of time to do that later when they lock me up._

Finally, Grissom was able to sit up straight without the room spinning, but Kane remained beside him, a hand on his back. "You all right, Gil?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Grissom hissed through gritted teeth, "I'm just perfect."

Sighing, Kane pulled his chair around the desk and sat so he was facing Grissom. "That, Gil, was a panic attack. But I assume you know that. Have you been having a lot of them lately?"

"No," Grissom said bluntly. Which was true, really; he'd only had two or three since the robbery.

"You're sure?"

"No, Phillip, I just don't notice when the lights go out in the middle of the day and I suddenly can't breath anymore," he snapped sarcastically.

"Ok, Gil, just relax," Kane soothed as he put a hand on Grissom's shoulder again. Grissom shrugged him off. Trying to keep things going, Kane ignored the gesture. "So then you attacked the robber and killed him after being shot yourself, and you made your way to the phone to call for help."

"Yeah, sure."

"All right. How have you been sleeping, lately?"

"Fine."

"No nightmares?"

There was silence for a moment, and Grissom's gaze flickered to Kane. Saying 'no' would be unrealistic; saying 'yes' would probably make Kane dig even deeper than he already was.

Grissom shrugged. "Sometimes."

"What are they about?"

"People getting shot," Grissom responded angrily, "what do you think?"

Kane was silent.

Grissom fidgeted, pulling at the bandage on his hand. "There's lots of blood," he finally murmured. "On my face, on my arms… my hands."

"Do you think the blood on your hands could mean something?"

"What?" At Kane's soft question Grissom felt rage boil in him again. "Forget it, Phillip," he snapped, "you aren't going to get me with that crap."

Kane shrugged. "All right, then. Let's talk about what happened the other night in the morgue."

Shaking his head, Grissom stood up from his chair and walked over to the tank at the back of the room. "That was nothing," he said as he pulled the tarantula from the tank and allowed the spider to walk over his hands. "I had a migraine, and was stupid enough to try and do an autopsy. The smell got to me, and I threw up."

Kane nodded, and moved to stand next to Grissom. "And then you passed out."

"My ribs still haven't fully healed," Grissom stated irritably, "when I threw up I hurt them, and also aggravated my migraine. It wasn't a big deal. Albert was there, and he dealt with the situation perfectly well."

Sensing Grissom's growing agitation, Kane changed the subject. "How has it been at work?"

"It's been fine; I've already been to a crime scene."

"You had difficulty handling that didn't you?"

It took all of Grissom's will power to not turn and stare at him. How the hell could he know that? Who could have said something?

_Jim could have, _he thought. _Or David… maybe it was Greg. _Grissom frowned. It could have been any of the officers or personnel who were at the scene.

"I did fine," he finally responded.

Kane hid his disappointment. He had no idea how Grissom had done at his first scene back on the job, but he had hoped that if he pretended to know Grissom would crack. Unfortunately, that was not the case. With a sigh, he glanced down at the floor, and then back at Grissom.

"Gil," he began, but stopped when he realized once again that Grissom wasn't with him. It had been over half an hour since they had started talking, and Kane could tell by the droop in the scientist's shoulders that he was tired; they could finish this talk another time. Getting Grissom's attention, Kane informed him that he was leaving. "I'll talk to you again later, all right?"

"Sure," Grissom murmured, replacing his tarantula in the tank. "Whatever."

"Hopefully it will be in the next couple of days," Kane said. He was just about gone when he stopped, and turned back. "Gil, I just wanted to say, as a friend… that I'm really sorry for what happened to you, and those other people." With that, he disappeared out the door, closing it softly behind him. He would go find Catherine; tell her to keep an eye on Grissom until he had a chance to talk some more with his old friend. Maybe, if he was lucky, she would agree to keep him out of the field.


	10. Chapter 10: One Thing After Another

A/N: Okay, I have to apologize (again), for getting around to this update so late. I had writer's block, and then I couldn't get on the site for God knows what reason, and now we have Finals in a few days and I have to study, and so on and so forth. I find it highly ironic that this chapter's called _One Thing After Another…_ Anyways, I think it's official – I'm _never _doing a WIP again. Too stressful. And thanks to everyone who's still out there actually reading and reviewing this thing (yes,especially you Ehman).

Chapter 10: One Thing After Another

At the click of the latch as the door closed behind Kane, Grissom felt a heavy exhaustion fall over him. He swayed where he stood. For a moment he didn't move for fear of falling over. Then, when he had collected himself, he barely made it to his chair before his knees gave out under him; he slumped forward, and rested his head on his arms. He didn't even have the strength to be angry with Kane for coming here and messing with him. All he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and sleep forever, without the pictures that had been burned onto the insides of his eyelids, and without the sounds that constantly ricocheted around inside his head. He wanted to sleep and know for sure that everything was all right.

_But you can't do that, _nagged the little voice, _you've got work to do. _

"No," he mumbled to himself, protesting. Then he realized he was talking to himself, and buried his face farther into his arms. What the hell was he going to do?

He sat there for a few minutes before he managed to clear most of the fog from his brain. He remembered Sara telling him to come find her when he was done; hadn't she said she was going to be in the break room?

"Shit," he muttered. What were the odds that he would fall over before he made it to the break room? Regardless, he needed to see Sara, so he pushed himself up from his seat and shuffled wearily out the door.

There was no one in the break room when Grissom got there; apparently Sara had gone to find something to do.

_Well why would she wait around for you? _

Grimacing, Grissom pushed the thought to the back of his mind. The last thing he needed to do was mope around feeling sorry for himself. He set about fixing a pot of coffee; while he waited for it, he went and sat down on the couch. It wasn't long before his eyelids started to close. His headache had gone, and he was left with a fuzzy feeling, as though a blanket was wrapped around his brain that didn't allow any of his five senses to work. He felt like he had just gotten out of a hot bath and all his muscles had melted into nothing. It was all quite inductive to sleep, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ he thought irritably. For a while he fought against it; what if he woke up screaming, here, of all places? But in the end, he realized, it didn't matter what he thought. His body needed more than six hours of sleep, and it would get it.

* * *

In the layout room, Sara stood at Warrick's side, watching as he and Nick carefully put away all the evidence they had been going over from their DB; she had joined them after she realized that waiting in the break room was pointless as Grissom probably wouldn't show up for a while. Now, they had finished all they could do for the time being, and had decided it was time to take a break. Jacqui was working on their fingerprints, and would page them when she got something.

"So how was the movie last night?" Nick asked Sara as they walked along side by side.

At Warrick's confused look, Sara explained. "I went over to Grissom's last night and we watched a movie." Turning back to Nick, she gave a small smile. "It was fun. Of course, I fell asleep half-way through it, but what the hell."

"You slept at Grissom's house?" Nick said incredulously.

Sara scowled at him. "So? It's not a big deal."

The Texan laughed. "Relax, Sara, I'm just trying to imagine how Grissom would react to having you fall asleep in his house."

"Actually, he handled it pretty well," Sara said jokingly, "Considering I fell asleep _on _him."

"Oh good job, Sara," Warrick said dryly, "What, are you trying to give him a heart attack?"

Nick just laughed, and Sara couldn't help but grin as well as they came to a halt next to Grissom's office. Peering in, Sara raised an eyebrow. The food she had brought him was still sitting on his desk, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

"Looking for someone?" Nick asked playfully.

Sara shoved him lightly. "I guess he's already in the break room," she commented.

"Yeah," Warrick agreed. "He never did do well stuck in his office with stacks of paperwork; probably needed a break."

"It's not the paperwork I'm worried about," she muttered as they continued walking down the hall. She ignored the questioning glances they shot her way.

Finally, Nick asked. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

Sara shook her head, and sighed. "I was in there with Grissom earlier and Dr. Kane came in; wanted to talk to him. I told him I'd be in the break room when he was done."

Warrick grabbed her shoulder, halting her as they came to another stop in the middle of the hall. "You're worried Kane might have upset him?"

"Well, yeah," was the annoyed reply, "the guy's a shrink, and shrinks make people talk. Talk makes people like Grissom highly uncomfortable."

Nick nodded in understanding. "Hey, I'm sure he's all right. He's good at handling himself in situations like that."

"He _was_ good at handling himself in situations like that," Sara pointed out as they continued to walk. "Now he's all over the place, and he doesn't understand it any better than we do."

"All the more reason to find a way to understand it," Warrick offered, and Sara raised an eyebrow at him.

"I guess," she replied. Then she nodded towards the break room. "Let's go sit down, I'm exhausted."

"Yeah right!" Nick called after her with a grin as she started walking. "What have you done all night?"

"A lot, Nicky," she tossed over her shoulder, "babysitting you guys is hard work!"

"She got you there, bro," Warrick said with a chuckle as they followed her down the hall, "she got you good."

"Ahh, shut up," Nick muttered. Then he dug his elbow into his companion's ribs. "She said 'guys,' Rick. Plural."

"Whatever."

"Well, I guess he's not in the break room," Warrick noted as the trio walked down the hall and glanced through the windows.

It appeared he was right; Grissom was no where to be seen. Sighing, Sara pushed her way into the room and headed for the full coffee pot. Maybe he had gone to Kane's office or something.

Flipping over three cups, she poured them all some coffee; Nick and Warrick nodded their thanks, and took theirs gratefully before settling themselves at the table. Sara was about to follow, when she realized that someone was asleep on the couch.

"Guys, who…" she let the sentence trail off as she realized it was Grissom. When they glanced up at her questioningly, she nodded towards the couch with a smile. "I guess he got himself to the break room after all."

"What the hell is he doing?" Warrick exclaimed as he put down his cup.

"I think," Sara said as she put down her cup as well and pulled a blanket from one of the cupboards across the room, "that he didn't intend to fall asleep." She nodded towards him and smiled. "Check out how he's laying. He's going to be awfully sore when he wakes up if we don't move him."

Shaking his head, Warrick got up. Sara was right; Grissom's position looked highly uncomfortable, with his head resting on the arm of the sofa so his neck was at an odd angle and his legs half-on, half-off the sofa. Carefully, so as not to wake their sleeping supervisor, Warrick lifted Grissom's legs onto the sofa and moved him farther down the so he had room to stretch out.

"There we go," the young man muttered as Sara gently tucked in the blanket around him, and put a pillow under his head.

Grissom hadn't woken through the whole time Warrick had been moving his body, but now that Sara touched him he stirred.

His brow furrowed, and he gave a low moan as his hand clenched into a fist and his breathing pattern became more erratic.

"Sara," he mumbled, and there was a note of sadness in his voice.

"Hey," she murmured, crouching down beside him, "It's all right, I'm here." She took his hand in hers and squeezed reassuringly, running her thumb gently over his wrist. "I'm here," she whispered again, and Nick and Warrick couldn't help but grin at each other as Grissom relaxed, and his breathing evened out.

"Wipe those stupid grins off your faces, _boys,_" Sara muttered without turning around.

"I wasn't grinning," Nick protested, but Sara just shook her head, a smile playing over her own features.

Picking up the Nerf football that lay half-under the couch, she chucked it at his head. "Get out of here."

* * *

As Catherine made her way through the lab, looking for Grissom, she suppressed the anger and anxiety she felt. She had taken the Doc Robbins' words to heart, and was trying desperately to keep herself under control. She didn't want another scene with Grissom like the one earlier about Nick. God she felt stupid, remembering it now. What had she been thinking, anyways? She sighed. Hindsight was 20/20. And hopefully she would be able to sort out a few things with Grissom when she found him. She had plenty of time; she had already finished working on her trick roll.

A few minutes later she gave a sigh of relief when she caught sight of Nick and Warrick in the break room tossing their football back and forth. They would probably be able to help her.

"Warrick!" she called, "Where's Grissom? I need to talk…" she trailed off as Warrick shook his head, putting a finger to his lips. She almost laughed when Nick promptly tossed him the football, catching him in the side of the head.

"Keep it down, will you, Catherine?"

Immediately forgetting about the two 'boys,' Catherine's eyes landed on Sara, sitting in one of the chairs over by the coffee table. Then her gaze skipped to the couch, and her jaw dropped.

"Well, then," she muttered as she took in the sight of the sleeping Grissom. For a long moment she just stood there, watching him, noting how for the first time in months he looked relaxed, his face free of any lingering shadows of fear and pain. It was Warrick's pager that broke through her train of thought.

"Uh, that's Jacqui," he said, explaining needlessly as he glanced at Sara.

She smirked. "You need me to come hold your hand?"

Nick groaned as Warrick scowled at her, and dragged his friend out of the room before anything more could be said. Sara was having too much fun picking on them today.

When the guys had gone, Catherine lowered herself tiredly onto the chair next to Sara.

"What did you want to talk to him about?" the younger woman asked. She didn't need to clarify who she meant.

Catherine leaned back in her chair. "I just talked to Phillip Kane," she stated.

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"I take it you knew he was talking to Grissom?" Catherine said dryly, and Sara shrugged.

"Grissom didn't seem to like the idea, but I thought he should. Actually, I think he should probably start talking to him on a regular basis. Kane's known Grissom for a long time; he won't take any crap from him, and he won't be fooled by his little mind games and tricks."

Catherine snorted. "Yeah, you got that right." Then she sobered. "When Kane asked him to describe the robbery at the grocery store, he had a panic attack."

"No surprise there," Sara muttered. Then she sighed, and glanced over at him again. He looked so peaceful. "It's just one thing after another, Cath," she murmured, "and there's time to recover in between but never enough. I'm worried about how much longer he can keep up, you know? One of these days… One of these days he's gonna lose it, and he'll fall and keep falling and there won't be anything any of us can do."

"Don't say that, Sara," Catherine said angrily, but Sara continued as if she hadn't heard.

"It has to stop, Cath. Somehow, someone has to make it stop, because sometimes I don't think he has the strength to stop it for himself. Sometimes I think he just doesn't have the energy to try and help himself."

Realizing that getting upset with Sara wouldn't help anything, Catherine attempted a smile in the hopes that it would lighten the mood. "I can see you've thought about this quite a lot."

Sara's reply was completely serious. "Yeah, I guess I have."

"Well, you can…" Catherine was cut off as her pager beeped, and with an irritated sigh she glanced down. "It's O'Reilly," she informed her friend. "He wants us down on the strip, he's got a DB."

"Great," Sara sighed, "And I was just getting to the good part in this article."

"Yeah?" Catherine grinned, "What part would that be?"

With a grin in response, Sara threw the book down on the coffee table and stood, stretching. "The part with the bugs."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Girl, you're nuts. That's one of Grissom's articles, isn't it? How many times have you read that thing? I can barely stomach reading his articles once."

"I'll just shake my head in pity and leave it at that," Sara said, laughing. "Let's get out of here – we don't want our DB to run off before we can process it."

"Whatever you say, Sidle," came the response as Catherine shook her own head in disbelief.

Stretching once more, Sara knelt down next to Grissom and ran her fingers through his hair gently, carefully rearranging the blanket and tucking him in more securely. He mumbled something in his sleep, and she smiled.

"I'll be back," she murmured. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss over his cheek. With that, she stood and strode out of the room without a backwards glance. Catherine watched her go before following, a smile playing across her face as the scene ran through her mind again. Sara would be the perfect 'someone' to take care of him.

* * *

A few hours later, Nick made his way back to the break room. He and Warrick had wrapped up their case fairly quickly after they got their results back from Jacqui – the prints on the knife had been a match to their DB's brother, whose fingerprints were in the system from an assault charge earlier that year. It had only taken a matter of hours for them to call the brother in for questioning and break down his defence with the evidence. Brass was booking him this very moment, and Nick had decided to skip the lunch break with Warrick and head back to the lab. He wasn't all that hungry, and he wanted to relax in front of the break room TV for a while – hopefully with control of the remote. As he passed the DNA lab, he nodded to Catherine and Sara. They had just returned from the scene of their DB a few minutes ago, and were delivering their evidence to Greg. Nick smiled to himself as he entered the break room, remembering the way Sara had acted around Grissom. Maybe they were starting to figure things out.

He was a bit surprised when he caught sight of the object of his thoughts, still asleep on the couch. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It had been three hours since they'd left him. Shrugging, the Texan was about to get himself a cup of coffee when he realized something was wrong. Grissom was covered with a sheen of sweat, and his breathing was harsh and irregular. The fear that suddenly covered his face shocked Nick, and he immediately put down his coffee and strode over to the couch.

"Grissom!" he called, touching the man's shoulder. The only response was a low, tortured moan from the scientist, and Nick swallowed hard against his own fear. "Gris, come on," he begged, "Please, wake up."

Again, Grissom's only response was to become more agitated, and now he was mumbling under his breath, begging with someone as he tossed and turned.

"Grissom!" Nick cried again, shaking him, "Snap out of it, man!"

Still asleep, Grissom recoiled from him in fear, his hands out in front of his face protectively. "No," he gasped, pushing at Nick's shoulders.

And then in a matter of seconds fear turned to terror, and Grissom struck out. Nick barely managed to move out of the way of Grissom's fist as his supervisor fought hard against his hold.

"Shit!" he moaned, "Oh shit. Come on, Grissom!" He tightened his grip on Grissom's arms, trying to hold him down as he struggled harder.

"No!" And then, suddenly, with a last, hoarse scream of terror, Grissom's eyes snapped open. As the images of the nightmare continued to flash before him, Grissom was unaware that it was Nick holding him, and he lunged forward in a panic and slammed his fist against the face of his attacker. "No!"

"Grissom!" Nick cried, "Gris, it's me! Grissom!"

For a long moment, Grissom didn't move, his haunted eyes staring at Nick but not really seeing him; then he blinked. Recognition flashed across his face, and then horror as he saw the blood that trickled down the Texan's cheek.

"Oh God," he moaned, and he pushed away from Nick, stumbling across the room in a daze. _What did you do,_ he thought, _oh God, what the hell did you do? _Unable to think rationally, he began to wildly pace, running his hand through his hair agitatedly as he tried to calm down. His heart drummed wildly against his chest, and he remembered the panic attack he had had earlier in his office. _That's not gonna happen, _he told himself.

Nick, who had caught his breath again after nearly being strangled, sensed another panic attack coming on and moved forward, trying to calm Grissom.

"Grissom, hey…" he took a deep breath, attempting to control his own raging emotions. "Hey." He reached out a hand and rested it on Grissom's shoulder, but was unprepared for the violent response as Grissom jerked away, fury masking the despair that had previously shone in his eyes.

"Don't," he choked out, "Don't touch me!"

"Grissom, I just…"

"Shut up, Nick!" Grissom yelled, his whole body shaking with suppressed emotion, and Nick obeyed, falling silent and willing himself to stand perfectly still. He hated to admit it, but he was afraid of what Grissom might do. Of course, Nick knew the older man would never hurt him on purpose, but it seemed like he couldn't control himself anymore. And he had just attacked Nick. Whether he had meant to attack him was a different story, but it had still happened. Suddenly, the tense silent that had followed Grissom's angry command was broken as Sara and Catherine entered the room. They both realized that something was wrong when they saw the blood on Nick's face. Sara's gaze snapped to Grissom's haunted one. She knew that look. Often, when she woke from a nightmare, she saw that same look staring back at her from the bathroom mirror.

"Grissom…"

Without a word, he turned away and pressed his clenched fist to the wall. It was taking all his strength not to punch something. Hell, it was taking all his strength not to scream until he passed out and floated into welcome oblivion. But he was in control. Thank God, he was in control. And then, as usual, that was taken from him as well. Sara put a hand on his shoulder. That was all it took, and he whipped around as he felt a sob rise in his chest.

"God damn it, Sara, don't touch me!" he screamed, and he tore out of the room, stumbling a bit as the world seemed to spin around him.

Catherine was about to follow him, but Sara stopped her.

"Let him go. We have to let him go. He needs some times, and besides, he's not going anywhere – I drove him to work."

Catherine, realizing she was right, took the dazed Nick by the arm and sat him down at the table while Sara grabbed a first aid kit from one of the break room cupboards.

"He was having a nightmare," Nick explained softly, gritting his teeth against the tears that threatened. "I tried to wake him up, but I couldn't… he just fought me harder. He was freaking out, Cath. And then he woke up, and it was like he thought I was trying to attack him or something. He hit me, and grabbed me around the neck." He heaved a short, harsh laugh. "I had to say his name three times before he realized who I was and backed off." With a frustrated sigh, Nick pulled back from the sting of the disinfectant Catherine was putting on his cut eye. "God damn it," he cried, "why the hell can't everything be normal again?"

"I think we all wish things would be normal again as much as you do, Nick, Grissom most of all."

* * *

It was only when the icy coldness of the Las Vegas night slapped him in the face that Grissom realized that he couldn't go anywhere without her.

"Shit!" he screamed, and then suddenly he stopped. He couldn't do this again. He had to just… to just stop. And so it was that when Sara came out a few minutes later she found him sitting calmly on the curb by her SUV. She was surprised that he seemed so collected, but as usual hid it well.

"Hey," she said softly, and he glanced up, letting his gaze settle in the distance, just over her shoulder so he wouldn't have to meet her eyes.

"I'd like to go home."

"All right," Sara replied, nodding as she put a hand on his arm and led him towards the vehicle, "Let's get out of here."

At her touch a shiver ran through him, but he managed not to stiffen and pull away as she opened the door and motioned for him to get in.

The first five minutes of the drive was spent in silence, then Sara spoke.

"Nick's all right. A little bit shaken up, but essentially all right. He's already working on a story about how he got his black eye for the ladies... He doesn't blame you, Gris."

"Mmm," Grissom responded absently. He was glad to know he hadn't injured Nick too badly, but he didn't want to think about it right now.It seemed Sara wasn't going to allow that, thought, as she pulled up at a stoplight.

"What happened, Grissom?"

He didn't respond.

"Grissom, stop ignoring me," she said firmly. "What happened?"

"He was leaning over me," Grissom snapped, "I thought he was… I thought…" his voice trailed off as he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. "I don't know," he murmured softly.

"I think you do."

"No!" he snapped. "Why the hell can't you just believe me?"

"Because you're lying to me, Grissom," she returned, anger tingeing her words, "You're lying right to my face, and I can tell!"

"What, so you don't trust me now?"

"Of course I do, Grissom, I trust you with my life! And I trust you to take care of yourself, and make the right decisions, but it's hard to do things like that when you're as confused as you are right now."

"I'm not confused, God damn it!"

"Yes, Gris, you are. You don't know which way is up, and you're terrified because of it. You…"

"Shut up!" he yelled, "Just shut the hell up! I don't want to hear it."

"I know that, but you _need _to hear it," Sara said through gritted teeth as she pulled up in front of his house. "Grissom, this is your _life _you're messing with. Don't you understand that?"

"God damn it, Sara, that's the whole friggin' point. It's _my_ life! Mine! Not yours, or Nick's, or Warrick's, or Catherine's or even Greg's. It's mine, and everyone thinks they can just put a band-aid on it and fix it, but it doesn't _work _that way, Sara! Life doesn't _work _that way. If you could bring back the dead, maybe you could fix this whole God damn mess, but you can't. Nobody can." Without another word, he slammed out of the car, leaving a stunned Sara behind. It was only when she saw him pulling his keys out of his pocket and heading for his own vehicle that she realized what he was doing and she fumbled with the handle on the door of her own SUV for a moment, cursing, before she managed to get out and sprint across the parking lot to him.

"Grissom!" she yelled, "Gil Grissom, don't you dare!"

But he ignored her, and she was left alone with only the acrid smell of burnt rubber for company as he peeled out of the parking lot. "Shit!" she yelled, and she felt tears burn in her eyes when she realized that all she really could do was yell curses and pray to God he didn't do something to hurt himself.


	11. Chapter 11: Losing Inhibitions

A/N: I think it may be a miracle that this chapter is up so quickly, but hey, I didn't have writer's block this time. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, hope you enjoy this one as much.

Chapter 11: Losing Inhibitions

"You don't have to come over, Catherine," Sara said with a sigh, "There isn't much to do except sit and wait for him to either phone or come home."

As soon as she had calmed down, Sara had let herself into Grissom's townhouse using the spare key she had stolen and called Catherine. Upon hearing what had happened, the older woman had immediately offered to come and sit with her. Sara, of course, declined. She knew from the gossip going around the lab that Lindsey had been getting into trouble lately, and she didn't want to be responsible for taking away any of the girl's valuable time with her mother. She knew all too well what it was like to grow up with a mother who was never around.

"All right," Catherine conceded, a little reluctantly. "Just…" she groaned in frustration, "God, I don't know. You're right, there really is nothing to do but wait."

"Yeah," Sara snorted, "And think up painful ways for him to die when he shows his stupid face again."

"Ahhh," came the laughing reply, "You don't mean that."

"Maybe I won't by the time he gets here, but right now I'm pissed off, Cath."

"Yeah, well…" She let the sentence trail off. What was there to say? "I guess I'll talk to you later, huh? Call if he shows up… or if you need anything."

"Definitely."

They both hung up, and it was only a matter of seconds before Sara began to wish she had accepted Catherine's offer. Without Grissom – even an angry and unpredictable Grissom – to fill the townhouse with some semblance of familiarity, the rooms were cold and impersonal. She felt decidedly small and incredibly insignificant, and she glanced around, a little forlornly, trying to find some warmth. She soon realized it was futile, though, and suddenly felt incredibly tired. The house was filled with things that defined the man who lived there, so why didn't she feel like there was some part of Grissom here? _Because bugs aren't personal, _she thought with a sigh. Once again she scanned the room, and her gaze settled on the door to his bedroom. _You can't go in there, _she scolded herself, but still she found herself inexplicably drawn to it. She hadn't really looked around when she had been in there before, and she wondered if, maybe, there would be some private, more personal part of Grissom hidden within its confines. Pushing open the door, she inched into the room.

Whereas the rest of the house was bright and looked almost sterilized, like a hospital, Grissom's room was painted in darker, quieter colours. It was, indeed more personal and Sara found herself comparing everything in it with the man who occupied the space on a regular basis. But in the end she decided the similarities or differences didn't matter, because she felt better. She released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and shuffled closer to the large, king-sized bed. It looked perfectly made, as though no one had slept in it in a long time. _But you already knew that, _she thought with a wry smile. And then, after a moment's hesitation, she sank down onto the mattress and pulled one of Grissom's pillows to her face, inhaling his scent. She remembered, as a child, how she had always recognized people by their smells before their faces. One of her uncles, who had been a carpenter, had always smelled like fresh wood shavings. Another had smelled of tobacco. She couldn't quite define Grissom's smell, but it was clean, and comforting. And as she lay there, all she could see were his eyes staring at her with this awful, haunted look in them. A tear trickled down her cheek, but she didn't wipe it away. Instead, she buried her face in his pillow and cried, for her, for him, and for the people who had died and whose faces now haunted Grissom, day and night.

* * *

Grissom drove for hours, without thinking about where he was going or what he was doing. His mind was blank. And God, it felt so good not to think at all. It was as though he were in a trance, with no unwelcome sounds or sights and no unwanted emotions. But then he ran out of gas, and he was forced to pull into a filling station on the side of the road. As with Sara earlier, it was only the sight of another human being that did it, another person going about his day as if nothing were wrong. It made him feel empty and full of pain and furious all at the same time, and he was nauseated by it. He sat in his car and swallowed hard, gripping the wheel tightly as the man filled the tank. With trembling hands he paid, and a drop of sweat trickled down his face as he gunned the engine again and tore out of the tiny parking lot, praying for the blankness that had enveloped his mind before.

Hewas outside of Vegas, on a lonely strip of road where no one travelled, and he rolled down the window and slammed the gas pedal to the floor even harder. The wind that whipped his face caused his eyes to sting and water, and soon he was numb. Soon he was lost once again in a daze of nothingness, and he automatically eased up on the gas and closed the window as he once again slipped into the city of Las Vegas. He was encased in armour. Isolated… protected… separated… a ghost.

"Sin City," he whispered to himself, in a detached sort of voice, as though he were merely stating a curious fact and not twisting the knife in his gut with all the irony of those two small words.

* * *

For most of the day Sara had drifted in and out of sleep, always aware of where she was and her purpose for being there, clutching Grissom's pillow to her and resting her head on another. She had cried herself out, and now merely waited in a worried haze that consisted of the blackness of sleep and the soft glow of the sun through the drawn blinds in Grissom's room. A few times she had tried calling his cell, but had only encountered the annoying message, "the cellular customer you are trying to reach is unavailable." She cursed him softly for turning off his phone, but she didn't have the strength to become really angry.

It was almost time for work when her phone rang, and she was fully awake in an instant as she fumbled with the device.

"Grissom?" she blurted out.

"Sorry," Catherine said, regret in her voice, "it's me. I take it you haven't heard from him yet?"

"No," Sara replied in disappointment, sinking back onto the bed and curling up again. Despite all the sleep she had had she still felt exhausted.

"I'm sorry," Catherine apologized softly, and Sara sighed.

"It's not you're fault," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow, "why are you apologizing?"

"Well, someone should."

Sara couldn't help but laugh at the indignant tone of the older woman's voice, but then she sobered. "I was just… I was wondering if I could take the night off."

Catherine held her silence for a moment before speaking. "I'll say yes now, but that might not hold. If we start to get overwhelmed, I'll have to call you in. With Grissom gone as well…"

"All right," Sara cut in hurriedly, "of course. I understand. It's not as if you'll have trouble getting a hold of me," she added dryly, "I'm sitting right here with my phone clutched in my hand."

"Have you tried calling him?"

"Yeah, but he's turned the damn thing off."

Catherine snorted. "That's Grissom for you."

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a while after that, and then Sara sighed. "I better let you go, shift's gonna be starting soon."

"Yeah, all right. I guess you don't want anyone clogging up the phone lines, either. What I said before still goes – call me if you need anything."

"Yes, mother," Sara said with a smile, "I'll talk to you later."

Ending the conversation, she lay back down and closed her eyes. Despite her weariness she couldn't seem to sleep anymore, and before long she heaved an annoyed sigh and sat up.

"God damn it," she muttered to herself, "Where the hell could he be?"

* * *

Grissom's second escape into nothingness was brought crashing to an end just short of eight o'clock, and now he was hurtling towards oblivion as he downed hissecondbeer. He wasn't completely gone yet, but he hadn't eaten in a whileso he was getting there, andhe heaved a great sigh that could only be described as one of relief. Finally, it would really be ok._ Maybe Sara had the right idea, getting drunk out of her mind, _he thought, a bit dazedly. Then he immediately felt guilty. Jesus, what the hell was he thinking? Sara… she would be worried sick. _No she won't, _was his automatic next thought. Then he groaned, and motioned for another beer. He had had enough to drink so that he couldn't stop the unwelcome thoughts from coming – couldn't control them – but a few more beers and it wouldn't matter. A few more beers and he would forget about all this. But Sara… he really ought to phone and apologize. _Wait, _he told himself, _just have anotherdink first. _What was he supposed to be apologizing for, anyways?

"Nothing," he muttered, "I didn't _do _anything." He took another sip of his drink, and glared at the countertop. Sara… she made things so complicated. She _was _complicated, period. She could make him feel safe one minute and then terrified the next… He really should apologize. What exactly had he done again? His thoughts kept escaping him, and he pondered that for a while untilhe found he couldn't name just _one_ thing he'd done wrong. He hadn't done _nothing _wrong, he'd done _everything _wrong, starting from the day he'd asked her to come to Vegas. He'd known she'd come, just as he'd known he wouldn't have the guts to act on his feelings for her. And now he was hurting her at every turn just because she'd had the guts to act on her feelings. Just because she hadn't been happy with the friendship they had, and wanted more, he'd made her miserable. That line of thought depressed him, and he finished histhird beer and lowered his head wearily to the bar. What he needed was another drink.

He made his way through drinks number four, five andsix in record time, and soon found himself fumbling with his cell phone. While he couldn't remember why he needed to talk to her, he did know that he had to. She must have looked at the display before answering, because she knew it was him instantly.

"Grissom, oh my God, where are you? Are you all right?"

"'M fine," he mumbled, his voice slightly slurred.

There was a shocked silence for a moment. "Grissom, are you drunk?"

"No," he replied, frowning as the room blurred before him. "No, don' think so. Not exactly. Only had three beers. No, four. Maybe five… six? Coulda been six…"

_"Could have been six?"_ Sara cried. "You take off and go get _drunk_? Grissom, where are you?"

"Nowhere," he said. The last thing he wanted was to have her coming down here to pick him up.

Sara gave a frustrated sigh. "Grissom, look, just talk to me. Please, please talk to me." She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

"I'm sorry," he finally blurted, and Sara frowned.

"What for, Grissom?"

"I dunno," he slurred, then he dropped his eyes to the counter, and it made him angry that he did that even though she wasn't there. "Just… for everything. Everything I've ever done."

"Grissom, you don't have to…"

"Yes, I do," he cut in, and he sounded so agitated and upset she let him run with it. "I screwed up. I always screw up. Even when it means someone else's life on the line, I can't get things right."

"Grissom," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears, but he rambled on as though he hadn't heard.

"I just sat there," he mumbled, "Just sat there and watched while he shot those people. I coulda… shoulda saved them… the little boy couldn't 'ave been over five…" He spoke with a breathless, trembling voice that told Sara he was near tears himself. "I shoulda… done something. Shoulda killed the bastard before he got his chance… I shoulda _done _something, damn it! Might as well have shot 'em myself, for all the good I did… Jesus Christ… Shoulda killed the bastard before he got his chance…" He trailed off until all Sara could hear was a faint mumbling in the background and the heaving breaths of a person trying hard not to cry.

"Grissom, just tell me where you are, I'll come pick you up. We can talk some more."

"Can't," he choked out, "too late."

"Please, Grissom…"

"I'm sorry, Sara, I didn't mean to screw up… thought I'd get by all right if I pretended I was… better than I am. I'm sorry…"

"Gris…"

"I just… I have to go."

"Grissom, don't hang up!"

"Sorry I'm too chicken to be what you need…" She lost him then as he rambled some more about anything and everything, his words slurred and indecipherable.

"Grissom…"

That was all she said, and suddenly he was apologizing again. She blinked against the wetness that had finally spilled to her cheeks as she remembered how he had once said alcohol allowed people to tell the truth – or at least what they perceived as the truth.

"I'm sorry," he said in a shaky voice, "I have to go… were you sleeping? No, you're at work…" he gave a little groan that sounded as though it could have been a sob. "I'm sorry, I have to go… you prob'ly have to go…"

"No," she cried frantically, "It's fine, it's my night off, we can talk as long as you want."

Grissom shook his head, trying to clear it. She felt sorry for him. She probably pitied him.

"No," he mumbled to himself, wiping at the unshed tears of pain and anger in his eyes. _You should hang up._ He'd apologized for everything it was possible to apologize for; said his piece, and probably a fair bit more, though he couldn't quite remember now. Yet after all that, he didn't want to hang up. He wanted to sit and hear her voice and nothing else, and maybe tell her again how sorry he was, for everything. Tell her again how he would have made everything right if he could have… tell her he loved her. But he couldn't find the words, so he talked about Nick, and Greg, and Catherine.

"Didn't mean to hurt him," he slurred, trying in his confusion to make her understand. "Just… he was there, 'n I couldn't _tell, _couldn't tell who he was. Thought he was that… that guy. The robber. I had to stop him. I didn't… I couldn't tell it was Nicky. Oh, God," he moaned, "Nicky. Can't believe I did that to Nicky."

"It's all right, Grissom," she soothed, but she had a feeling her words weren't getting across as she suddenly realized he was babbling about Greg now, and Catherine.

"He'll hate me forever… probably hates me anyway. Didn't mean to yell at him… and Catherine… Cath… didn't mean to freak out at her, either.Don't know why I did, it was like… like I couldn't stop myself. Just… she made me so… so God damn angry… I think. I dunno. I can't think," he slurred. "Can't remember." He swallowed hard against the feeling of despair that was rising in his throat, and he tightened his grip on his cell in one hand and his beer in the other as he hunched over the bar. His mind was blank; he didn't know what to say as the uncomfortable silence stretched on. He didn't have the courage to ask her to just… sit and talk to him. So he apologized again, and hung upeven as she begged him not to.

"I need another one," he mumbled, and the bartender complied wordlessly, something that relieved him immensely. _But then, why would he say anything? _he thought. _He's probably seen so many freaks in here he's used to it by now. _

* * *

"Shit, shit, shit!" Sara screamed, throwing her cell phone to the bed and running her hand through her hair violently. "God damn you, Grissom!" He was drunk – the stupid son of a bitch was drunk and out of his mind. He was going to get himself killed, and there was nothing Sara could do about it. That thought stopped her cold, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Shit. He wouldn't try to kill himself, would he? _Of course not, _she reassured herself, _he's miserable and drunk, not suicidal. He'll get over it. _But it still bothered her. That thought, and how ripped up he had sounded. Sure, he was drunk, and some people got depressed when they drank, but he had talked about the grocery store. He had said that he should have saved those people; said that he might as well have been the one who shot them for all the good he did. His words reverberated through her brain: _I should have killed the bastard before he got his chance._

"Oh God, Grissom," she moaned, and buried her face in her hands. What the hell was she going to do?

* * *

Grissom had slowed down on the beers after his conversation with Sara, but had still managed to make it to thirteen by the time midnight rolled around, and by one in the morning he was sitting slumped over the bar top, completely wasted and merely staring at his fourteenth through half-closed eyes. He felt nothing, and was completely unaware that he was the only customer left in the place and that the bartender, Mike, was attempting to close up so he could go home. For a long moment the young man stared at Grissom with a critical eye. Then he mumbled something irritably under his breath and shook him.

"Hey, buddy, time to leave."

"Mmmmm."

"Come on, man, give me a break," he moaned. It was only his sixth day working at the place, and he hadn't yet had to deal with any drunks who were so inebriated they couldn't leave under their own steamwhen he needed to shut the place down. He had no idea what to do, so he shook him harder. Still no response. And then he caught sight of Grissom's cell phone, just peeking out from under his hand on the counter. He smiled in relief as he grabbed it, and pressed redial. It had sounded as though he was talking to a woman earlier – maybe a girlfriend, or a wife. They would probably come pick him up. Hopefully, they would come pick him up.


	12. Chapter 12: Hindsight's 2020

Chapter 12: Hindsight's 20/20

As soon as Sara got the call from the bartender, Mike, she was out the door in an instant. While she was relieved to hear that Grissom wasn't hurt, she still felt angry and upset that he had gone and gotten himself drunk. She remembered hearing someone say once that people who drank to drown their sorrow should be told that sorrow can swim. Apparently no one had told Grissom that. But then, she reasoned, there was no evidence that he had been doing this on a regular basis. It appeared that this was his first time. _Probably looking for the most effective sedative,_ she thought grimly as she pulled into the parking lot of the bar. But then, in the end, you couldn't really blame him; you could just hold on tight and attempt to outlast the storm, all the while praying that he was holding on as well. Sara had the strong suspicion that if he went down, she'd be right there beside him.

All her contemplations were brought to a halt when she entered the bar, however, and caught sight of Grissom. His shoulders were hunched, and his head rested on the bar. From where she stood Sara could see that his eyes were half-closed, and the look on his face was one of relaxed bliss.

"Oh, thank God," she murmured as she rushed forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. He didn't appear to even notice her though, and she sighed as she touched his cheek again in a last futile attempt to get his attention.

"I reckon you'll need some help getting him into the car," Mike said grudgingly from where he sat farther down the bar.

"Yes, please." Sara hadn't liked the guy from the first moment they had talked, but she was grateful to him for phoning her, so she forced herself to be polite.

It took them about eight minutes to get Grissom out to Sara's vehicle. He was limp and unresponsive, and they had to half-carry, half-drag him outside.

"Come on, Grissom," Sara moaned as they heaved him into the passenger seat, "help us out a little."

Grissom's only response was to blink at her, and if she hadn't been so stressed out she would have laughed at how owlish he looked. Finally, they had him tightly strapped in, and Sara thanked Mike, who merely ignored her and walked over to his own car.

"Well, aren't you friendly," she muttered as she climbed into the SUV and started the engine.

The drive back to Grissom's house was silent, with Grissom completely out of it and Sara too irritated to talk with him even if he could have responded coherently. Despite this, however, she still wished she could share his pain – carry some of the weight for him. Hell, she wished he would let her in, as well; wished that he would admit he loved her. But the odds weren't in her favour; never had been.

Suddenly, all her thoughts of goodwill towards Grissom were shattered as she pulled up in front of his house and her charge gave a low moan.

"Grissom?" she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and swore. "Shit, Gris, don't you dare!"

He had suddenly gone incredibly pale, and his face shone with sweat under the street lamp. He moaned again, and Sara practically fell out of the vehicle, tearing around the front and throwing open the passenger side door, dragging him out.

"You are _not _puking in my car, Grissom," she said through gritted teeth as she struggled to hold him up. It was no use, though, and as his knees gave out and he began to retch violently she was forced to set him down as gently as she could – which wasn't very gently at all – while he puked his guts out on the pavement. Finally, it was over, and he slumped back against the wheel of the SUV, his head rolling to his shoulder as he slipped into unconsciousness. Sara withheld a scream of pure frustration and anger, and brushed away the tears that were threatening to spill over. Obviously she couldn't just leave him out here, but she wouldn't be able to get him into the townhouse on her own, either, especially now that he was unconscious. Not that he would have been much help before. Suddenly, her cell phone rang, and she strode back around the vehicle and answered it.

"Sidle," she snapped.

"Whoa, girl, what's up with you?"

Sara groaned. "Sorry, Warrick, didn't knowit was you. And don't worry, it's not you that I'm upset with."

"Grissom, huh?" he said sympathetically. "Catherine told us. You heard from him yet?"

"Yes. He's right her beside me." Sara couldn't help it, and she began to laugh until she started hiccoughing.

"Uh, Sara? You all right?"

"No, I'm not all right," she said, sniffing as her laughter turned once again to tears. "Grissom went and got himself drunk, and he just threw up all over himself and I don't know how I'm going to get him into his house. I can't lift him."

"Grissom got drunk?" Warrick blurted in disbelief.

"Yeah. And now he's passed out and I can't lift him! What am I supposed to _do_?"

"Hey," Warrick said soothingly, "take it easy, it's all right. I'm driving now, I'll be there in a few minutes, and I'll help you. Just stay with him, ok?"

"All right." She couldn't understand it, but just the thought that she wouldn't be alone anymore made her feel so much better.

* * *

When Warrick pulled up, Sara immediately gave him a hug. He raised an eyebrow at her when she pulled back.

"Well, I never knew I was so special to you. Especially after the way you treated me the other night," he added teasingly.

"Shut up," she muttered, suddenly embarrassed, and he grinned.

"All right, where's this drunk supervisor of ours?"

"Drunken," Sara corrected, hitting him lightly.

He stared at her.

"You said drunk," she explained with a grin of her own. "The correct English would be 'drunken.'"

Warrick groaned. "Drunk, drunken, it all means the same thing, and I would bet that Grissom won't care whether I used proper English or not tomorrow when he wakes up with a hangover."

Sara sobered then, and nodded towards Grissom, who was still sat leaned against the tire of the SUV. "Can you just help me get him inside? I can probably take it from there… get him cleaned up a bit."

"I'll do whatever you need, Sar," he assured her, grabbing Grissom under the armpits and heaving him up, "I've got all day. I hope."

"What, Catherine has you on call?" she inquired as she leaned down so he could drape one of Grissom's arms over her shoulders.

"Yeah."

She grinned. "You go, Warrick!"

"If you weren't a girl, I'd kick your ass," was the disgruntled reply.

Working together, using a much more efficient method than the one Mike had used at the bar, they managed to get Grissom inside.

"Whew," Warrick breathed as they settled the scientist on his bed, "It's been a while since I had to lug around a body like that."

Sara snorted. "A body, Warrick?"

He narrowed his eyes at her threateningly. "You know what I mean, Sidle. The people I hang out with these days don't generally go around getting drunk – they're too busy working."

Realizing he was talking about her and the rest of the team, Sara glared right back at him. Then she couldn't help but grin at the innocent look on his face.

Once they had him cleaned up a bit, Sara rummaged through Grissom's drawers until she found a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that spouted 'FORENSICS' across the chest,throwing them at Warrick..

"Here," she said, "get him into these."

"Sure thing, mom," he replied with a smirk, "Do you want me to tuck him in and read him a bedtime story as well?"

The death glare she sent his way didn't faze him and as she left the room she wondered, with a smirk plastered across her face, if maybe she'd overused the look in the past couple of weeks.

A few minutes later Warrick came out of Grissom's room to find Sara sitting on the couch, blankly staring at the blackened screen of the TV.

"Hey," he said, sitting down beside her and rubbing her arm comfortingly.

She turned to him, smiling a little when she realized what he was doing. "He still out?" she asked.

"Like a light. Probably will be for a couple of hours."

"No doubt," she returned dryly.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and then Warrick turned to study her closely. "This whole thing… with Grissom… it's really getting to you, isn't it?"

Sara glanced up, startled. "What?"

"Must be hard, trying to take care of him, understand what he's going through, and keep your own sanity intact all at the same time."

"Warrick," she said warningly.

He pursed his lips, weighing the pros and cons of continuing. Then he merely smiled, and said lightly, "You'll be fine, Sara. And so will he. Just give it time."

For a moment Sara allowed herself to consider that statement, and realized he was right. She had no idea how long it would take for everything to be right again, but it would come. They might all be a little beat up, but essentially all right. She nodded slightly, acknowledging her friend's attempt at comforting her before she got up and wandered over to the kitchen. "You want something to eat?"

"From Grissom's fridge? No way, Sara, that could be life-threatening."

"Don't worry," she responded, smiling, "Everything here is safe. I checked it out beforehand."

"Ha, sure you did."

"I did, honestly," she assured him. "Besides, Grissom eats out of here all the time, what could be bad about it?"

Warrick snorted. "The guy's a nutcase, what _couldn't_ be bad about it?"

It took them a while, but they finally managed to throw together enough ingredients to make themselves a decent breakfast. As they ate they talked, about anything and everything except work and Grissom. By the time Catherine phoned to inform Warrick that they had a break in their case and he was needed back at the lab, Sara felt she much more relaxed.

"Thanks, Warrick," she said as he pulled on his coat.

"No problem," he reassured her with the easy smile that was so familiar. "I've told you before, just call me if you need anything."

Sara's mouth quirked up at one corner. "Yeah, that's what Catherine said, too. I think I'll be fine now, though."

"Probably, you always were the independent type."

Shaking her head as he laughed, they said their goodbyes and Sara closed and bolted the door behind him. She chuckled to herself as she made her to Grissom's room, and peeked in on him for a moment. He was resting comfortably, the sheets pulled up to his chin, so she left him and returned to the living room where she switched on the TV. Maybe there would be something good on, though she doubted it at this time of the morning.

* * *

"Hey, Catherine," Warrick greeted the older woman as he walked into the break room to find her eating a sandwich as though she were in a race.

"Hey," she responded, with her mouth still full, and Warrick raised an eyebrow at her. She glared at him, and he chuckled.

"We got a hit in AFIS," she informed him then, "Brass is bringing the guy in for an interview."

"Sounds good," he said, taking a seat next to her. "Where's Nick?"

"Right here, Warrick, don't you worry about that."

Warrick glanced up to see Nick walking into the break room, and he winced and looked down as he caught sight of the black eye that jumped out from the Texan's face, and the red marks around his neck where Grissom's hands had grabbed him. Seeing the way Warrick looked down, Nick forced a smile.

"Hey, man, it looks worse than it is."

"Ahh," Warrick joked, "You don't have to be tough for me, Nicky."

At that, Nick's face split in a real smile, and Warrick sat back with a happy sigh. "You don't have to worry about Grissom anymore," he said then, realizing that they would probably want to know that their supervisorwas all right. "He's safe in bed with Sara standing guard over him like a hawk."

That got their attention, and they both turned to stare at him. "Where was he?" Nick blurted out.

"At a bar, getting drunk out of his mind."

"Grissom got drunk?" The Texan said disbelievingly, and Warrick smiled.

"That's exactly what I said, and yeah, he got drunk all right. Right after he puked out his guts all over the pavement in front of his townhouse he passed out."

Catherine winced. "Ohhh, poor Sara."

"Yeah, I think she nearly had a panic attack herself there for a minute."

"But it's all taken care of now, right?" Nick said anxiously. "I mean, he's ok?"

"Yeah," Warrick said, frowning, "Like I said, he's asleep."

Nick nodded, relieved. Hedidn't quite understand it, but ever since he'd seen the look in Grissom's eyes when he'd woken up from that nightmare, he just couldn't shake the worry he felt for his supervisor. That look had just… ripped into him. It had almost hurt more than Grissom's hands around his throat. But he didn't want to think about that. Catherine was talking now, telling them more about the developments in their case, and he sighed and pulled his mind back to the task at hand. Maybe he'd go visit Grissom later, see how he was doing…

* * *

An hour later, Sara had just settled down to watch an episode of some old crime show when she heard Grissom groaning. She was on her feet immediately, and pushed through the door just in time to see Grissom shoot up from the bed and stumble into his bathroom.

"Well, nice to see you're awake," she said with a smirk as she followed behind him and stood in the doorway. Then her amusement faded and she began to feel sorry for him as he started to throw up again, gasping and choking over the toilet for a few minutes even after there was nothing left in his stomach. When he was done he flushed the toilet, lurched to his feet and turned on the tap. Sara didn't have time to stop him before he plunged his head under the stream of water, and she sighed. Reaching around him, she pulled a clean towel from under sink. Then she turned off the tap and pulled him away so she could dry his hair as he leaned against the wall for support. His eyes were tightly closed against the lights, and there were furrowed lines on his forehead that spoke of his pain. She tried to be gentle, but it was difficult to dry someone's hair without hurting them when they had a hangover. He groaned, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hurts," he mumbled, and she shook her head, dropping the towel to the floor.

"Well, you should have thought about that before you went and got drunk."

"Couldn't think," he informed her in a hoarse whisper. "Besides, hindsight's 20/20." Sighing, knowing he was right, she led him stumbling back to his room. Hindsight could be a real bitch sometimes.

"I know," she said softly as he collapsed onto the bed, "You told me quite a bit about what you should have done, tonight."

He knew what that meant, and the comment elicited another groan as a dull red glow spread over his cheeks. Sara had the feeling he would have burrowed under his covers to hide from her if he hadn't been in so much pain. "What else did I tell you?" he moaned.

"A lot of stuff, Grissom, but we can talk about that later, all right?"

There was no response, and she saw that he had fallen asleep again. "Yeah, we'll talk about it for sure," she whispered to him as she tucked him in and, turning off the bathroom light, left the room. She found, however, that the show on TV no longer interested her. She didn't want to sit still; she wanted to be doing something. After all the hours she had slept earlier, and the refreshing talk with Warrick, she felt energized. For a while she simply puttered around Grissom's townhouse, cleaning up the mess that had accumulated – or so she assumed – over the few months since the robbery. When there was nothing else to do in that respect, she paced restlessly. It wasn't until fifteen minutes had passed that she decided to go for a run, and she checked in on Grissom one last time to find him still asleep before she wrote him a note, in case he should wake before she returned, and disappeared out the door. She smiled to herself as she tucked the spare key to his house into her pocket.

After going home to change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, Sara ran for an exhausting hour. When she finally got back, she was once again ready to sleep. It felt good to be tired physically instead of emotionally, her muscles burning pleasantly. At first she was torn between staying at her place so she could get a good sleep in her own bed and returning to Grissom's to make sure he was ok. In the end, though, there really wasn't any competition. She would look out for Grissom as long as he needed someone, no matter what. Maybe that was crazy in itself, but hell, she had never really been completely sane. Who in their right mind would fall in love with a guy like Grissom, anyway? He was closed off, socially inept, and couldn't seem to fully comprehend anything other than science and bugs, but she had to admit she did love him. And she enjoyed the thought of the challenge of breaking down all those walls he had built around himself.

_Think about that later, _she told herself with a yawn as she stretched out on Grissom's couch. _You'll have plenty of time to think about that later. _


	13. Chapter 13: Nightmares and Juries

A/N: Ok, this is my favourite chapter so far, so I hope you guys like it as much as I do... and no, Ehman, you can't laugh at me, or I will make you bleed. And thanks for all the reviews, everybody, I love them!

Chapter 13: Nightmares and Juries

_He was standing in the middle of the grocery store, the cold breeze from the air conditioner causing him to shiver violently. Before him stood the robber, showing his teeth in a sick looking smile. A stab of fear raced through Grissom, and he swallowed hard. He was going to die. _

_But then he realized that there was no gun in the robber's hands. _Kill him, _the voice whispered in his ear. _Kill the son of a bitch with your bare hands. _And his fear was replaced as an awful rage stirred in his chest, and his hands clenched into fists._

You bastard,_ he hissed. _I'll kill you.

_But the robber only shook his head as though Grissom were a child, throwing a temper tantrum over some small thing. _Like you killed those other poor people?

_Grissom faltered slightly. _I didn't kill them, _he replied hoarsely, swaying unsteadily. _

_The robber shook his head, and his grin widened. _You say you didn't, but you know the truth… we all know the truth.

_Grissom's knees nearly buckled. _No! _he screamed in rage. _I didn't kill them!

Of course you did,_ was the smug, whispered reply. _Even if you didn't pull the trigger, you're still responsible.

No! _For a long moment the only sound to be heard was Grissom's laboured breathing and then, slowly, people began appearing crowded around in a group behind the robber. The little boy was first, and then his mother, and the cashier - the faces that haunted Grissom, day and night, who lived in him, slowly tearing him apart._

_Grissom felt his breath catch in his throat. _No, _he moaned._

_But then his glance was caught as a row of seats appeared off to the side. As he watched, Greg appeared, followed by Warrick, Nick, Catherine, and Sara. Then Doc Robbins appeared, along with Brass, his mother, who had been dead for years, Phillip Kane, David, the assistant coroner, Ray O'Reilly and Detective Vega. _

Now's your chance, _the robber said conversationally, drawing Grissom's attention back to him._ Save them. Prove you're not a killer. We have an audience of twelve; a jury, if you will.

_Picking up the gun that had appeared on the counter, he took it and cocked the hammer._

No! _Grissom screamed as he lunged forward, but something was holding him, pulling him down. _No!

_As though he were at a shooting range, merely practicing his shot, the robber gunned down the cashier. _Aren't you going to save them? _he taunted, but his words were drowned out by Grissom's screams of anguish as he fought against the thing that bound him._

_His muscles were burning from the effort and he felt as though his lungs would burst, but still he fought, struggling violently as the woman was killed. _

_And then they were all gone except the little boy, the fear in his eyes unmistakable as he cowered under the sights of the robber's gun. _Mommy! _he called, whimpering. _

No! _Grissom screamed as he felt the warm blood spray over him and his bonds snapped. He stumbled, propelled forward by momentum, and fell to his knees next to the boy._

And we have a verdict, _the robber cried with glee as he began to disappear. _Guilty!

No! _Grissom cried one last time, feeling something snap in his chest, but the boy was gone. And he looked up into twelve pairs of accusing, disgust filled eyes. _

I didn't… I couldn't get to them, _he gasped, pleading, begging them to understand, to make it all right. _I tried, _he cried, stumbling to his feet as they turned their backs on him. _God, I didn't mean to! Sara!

Killer, _she hissed._

"No!" Grissom woke with a scream as he lunged upwards from his bed. His body was soaked in sweat, and he was tangled hopelessly in the sheets as he continued to struggle, his chest heaving.

It was only seconds later that his door burst open, and the room was flooded with light as Sara came running into the room. She reached out to pull him into a hug, murmuring soothing words, but he jerked away from her, eyes wide as he stumbled out of bed. He couldn't stand, though and he fell to the floor with the sheets still twisted around his legs.

"Don't," he gasped, his whole body trembling as he kicked at the bonds, "Just… don't." It was light; he could see her eyes, and logically, he knew there was only worry for him there. But all he could see was the disgust; the accusations. And suddenly tears began rolling down his face. Images of those people, that young boy, lying dead on the floor assaulted his mind once again as he closed his eyes, and when he snapped them open in panic, Sara was there, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Don't!" he cried again, struggling against her, but she held on tight, and finally he slumped into her embrace and let his head fall to her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I'm so sorry."

"Shhh," she whispered, rocking him a bit as she pulled him half onto her lap and leaned back against the wall, "Shhh, it's all right, Grissom. It's all right. Everything will be all right."

And they stayed there for ten minutes, Grissom's body heaving violently in her arms with each sob and ragged breath. It hurt, to hear the choking cries that came from him as he buried his head in her shoulder, but she swallowed her own pain as they sat together.

Finally, his sobs subsided, and he merely lay trembling against her. Every few seconds he would draw in a shuddering breath, and Sara continued to rub gentle circles on his back and rock him. It felt kind of weird; this was Grissom, after all. But at the same time it felt right. She, as well as the others on the team, tended to place Grissom on a pedestal above them, as though he were someone who wasn't quite human. To them, he was invincible. And now they had been forced to reconsider the way they perceived him. He _was _human; a human who made mistakes like the rest of them, and even felt pain like the rest of them. In the past few months, Sara had begun to understand just how much pain Grissom could feel, and did feel. It scared her to think about it.

Suddenly, she was jerked back from her thoughts as Grissom tentatively pulled away from her. This time she released him, and he leaned back against the bedroom wall beside her, his knees pulled up to his chest.

"Do you want…" she stopped herself immediately. Of course he didn't want to talk about it. But he was going to. She waited a moment longer, allowing the silence to stretch before she broke it. "Why don't you get yourself cleaned up a bit; I'll wait in the living room."

He didn't say anything, but she knew he had heard her by the way his eyes flickered to the other side of the room, and his jaw clenched. _God, I wish this didn't hurt you so much, _she thought sadly as she squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. As she left the room, she closed the door carefully behind her. Moving quickly, she put some water on to boil and then sat down at the table to wait. She glanced ruefully at the couch, where her blankets lay in a haphazard bundle. So much for sleep. But then, she had come back here to make sure he was ok.

As she sat there, waiting, her conversation with Catherine from earlier ran through her head, over and over again, her own words at the forefront of her mind.

_It's just one thing after another… there's time to recover in between but never enough… I'm worried… one of these days he's gonna lose it… he'll fall and keep falling…it has to stop. _It had to stop. She had to make it stop before Grissom was hurt even more than he already was.

Ten minutes later, Grissom still hadn't come out, and Sara began to get worried. She didn't want another episode like the one the other night; as much as she enjoyed spending time with Grissom, she _didn't _enjoy spending that time with him at the hospital waiting for x-rays.

"Grissom?" As before, she knocked softly, and then pushed open the door. She was mildly surprised to see him sitting quietly on the edge of his bed in the cool darkness of the room. It appeared that he had cleaned up, and put on a fresh pair of clothes.

"Hey," she said, sitting down beside him, "You gonna come out?"

Once again he didn't reply, and looked away. A red tinge shaded his cheeks as he swallowed hard. His shame was obvious, and Sara took a deep breath to calm herself before she spoke. "Gris, you know, you don't have… you don't have anything to be ashamed about. It's just… it's natural, to feel the way you're feeling. It's…"

"Sara…" There was a pleading note in his voice. It was the first he had spoken since his gasping, desperate apologies right after the nightmares, and she was silent immediately. If he was finally going to talk, she would listen. But he didn't continue, and she looked down in an effort to hide her disappointment. As she did so, she caught sight of his hands, clenched into fists. They always were these days. And gently, slowly, she reached down and placed her hand over his. The move must have shocked him, because his gaze snapped back to her, and then to their hands. The look in his eyes was mixed surprise, panic, and relief.

"It's all right," she murmured. "Honestly." A few more seconds passed before, tentatively, he uncurled his fist, and turned his hand so he could twine his fingers with hers. His grip was tight, and Sara got the feeling he was afraid she would pull back as he took a deep breath.

"Come on," she coaxed, standing. He tightened his grip on her hand, and she pulled him up, though he still seemed reluctant and continued to avoid her gaze. "I made you some hot chocolate."

That caused a small smile to lift his lips, and she gave him a light shove with her hip as she grinned. "I can even get some marshmallows, if you want."

"Sure," he murmured. They walked out together, their fingers still entwined. Sitting him down at the kitchen table, she went and got his drink, which had cooled off considerably in the time since it had been made but was still warm enough. In doing so she was forced to pull her hand from his, and she noticed that as soon as she did he flexed it experimentally, studying it as though in wonder that he had actually held her hand. She smiled to herself momentarily before becoming serious again.

"Here you go." She sat down across the table from him, and studied him. It was slightly amusing to watch, as he ate the marshmallows before sipping at the drink.

He appeared to be lost in thought as he drank the hot liquid, so Sara stayed silent until he had finished, and placed the mug back on the table. He was calm now; he showed no signs of the nightmare he had just endured. Clearing her throat, Sara leaned forward a bit, willing him to look up. He did, only to look away again.

"Will you talk to me?" she asked softly. "Please?" She was aware that if she told him he had to talk to her he would probably become angry, so she phrased it as a question. She was surprised when he looked down, and hesitantly reached out a hand to twine his fingers through hers again. She squeezed reassuringly.

"I'm scared," he admitted, his voice small and trembling. Actually, he was terrified. And so tired of hiding, from Sara, even from himself. Maybe it was time to just let go. He had thought about it, before… but he had been lost, and alone, and he was afraid that if he let go he would fall. It wasn't until now that he realized he had been falling anyways. He needed someone to catch him, and Sara was here now. She was the strongest person he knew.

"It's all right," she murmured. Then she reached out her free hand and rubbed her thumb gently over his cheek. He leaned into her touch, his eyes closed, and Sara could see the tears starting to leak out again, darkening his eyelashes.

"I froze up," he began, haltingly. "I just sat there, and stared while he shot them. I only stopped him when he… threatened me. I was just looking out for myself."

"Oh, Grissom," she began, but he cut her off.

"Please, Sara, don't. I don't think I can… I don't think I can do this, if I have to stop." He took another deep breath, and began to speak again. "I saw what he was doing. I could have stopped him. But I didn't. I screwed up… I should have saved them. I could have saved them."

"Grissom, it wasn't your fault!" Sara cried, completely forgetting what he had said about not being able to continue if she interrupted, "You're only human, you couldn't have…"

"I know!" he responded, equally agitated, "But I… every night… I _see _them, I watch them die. And all of you, twelve of you, are watching… a jury, he said. But I still can't save them, and you… you look at me, with… disgust, and hate, and accusations in your eyes. And I just _know _I've screwed up again. Only this time I've screwed up so bad, there's no fixing it, because four people are dead because of me. I'm _guilty, _God damn it!" He was crying hard again, his body shaking as the tears ran down his face, but he made no sound this time. It hurt Sara, to know that she and the team were a part of his nightmares, torturing him whenever he slept, but she forced herself to remember that they were merely dreams – figments of an imagination that had been fed by an injured body and soul. Still clutching his hand, she got up from her seat and went to him, hugging him tightly. With the tears still streaming down his face, he pulled a shocked Sara onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Sara," he mumbled, and she allowed him to hold her and hide his face in her neck once again.

"I would never, ever hate you for what happened, Grissom," she whispered fiercely in his ear as she stroked his cheek. "You were not responsible for it, and you couldn't have stopped it. You're only human; it wasn't your fault that you froze. It was purely instinct, Grissom, completely out of your hands."

"God, I know that," he groaned, holding her tighter as his tears soaked her shirt, "Really, I do. But I don't understand it. Why can't I understand it? Why couldn't I do something? That little boy… I just looked out for myself. I always, always just look out for myself."

"Grissom…" He was contradicting himself at every turn, and she wondered how he had ended up so lost and confused.

"I've always been afraid," he mumbled, ignoring her soft protest. It appeared that his worries of being unable to keep going were unfounded; now that he had gotten started, he couldn't seem to stop, and the words just kept pouring out. "Afraid of being hurt," he rambled, "afraid of being abandoned. And I can't even blame it on my dad, because millions of dads everywhere leave before their kids are grown up, and those kids get over it just fine. I don't even remember him… but I remember what it felt like to know that someone who was supposed to love you hated you; couldn't even stand to be around you. I ruined my mother's life."

Sara swallowed hard as he spoke of his childhood, something he rarely if ever did, and wondered how someone lived through fifty years of their life with that kind of guilt hanging over them, albeit undeserved guilt. And she wondered how this tied in with the robbery. As he continued, she got her answer, and it hit her hard. "I always… always protected myself after that. And I hurt so many people, because I was only worried about protecting myself. I didn't care what happened to others, I just never wanted to feel so… useless, and small, and pathetic ever again; never wanted to feel so lost. So I made sure I didn't. I was in control. But now I feel like that everyday and it just won't stop, and all I can think is that I deserve it. I deserve this, and anything else that happened to me." He broke off then, his body shaking violently.

"It's all right, Grissom," she said for probably the fifteenth time that night, and she hated how suddenly, she herself felt so useless. _Do something! _Her mind screamed. But what? What could she do for him? She didn't know, so she merely murmured nonsensical, soothing words to him and gently wiped away the tears that still stained his cheeks. And in the end, she thought, as she sat there holding him tightly and being held by him, that was probably the best thing for both of them.

"I'm sorry, that I hurt you," he finally whispered, after the tears had subsided somewhat. "I never wanted to… I just… I wanted things to be safe, and you weren't… safe. You were an uncontrollable variable in an experiment that would have risked everything I've ever worked for in my life. I… I guess I just… I was afraid." He gave a bitter, choking laugh. "As usual."

"'I _was _afraid'," she repeated softly. "That's past tense."

"Oh, I'm still afraid," he informed her, just as softly, "I just… I think I'm starting to realize it's not all pain. And that what is pain can be taken care of by… certain people."

Sara swallowed, leaning forward a bit. "Well, that's good." Slowly, giving him time to say stop if he wanted to, she brushed her lips over his. It sent an electric shock through his body that paralyzed him for a moment; then she did it again, and he realized he should probably kiss her back. Her lips twitched up in a smile as he reciprocated, a strange look in his eyes, and she wondered vaguely whether he thought this was a dream or not. _Don't flatter yourself, Sidle, _she admonished, but that just caused her to smile wider, and Grissom pulled back and studied her for a moment.

"What's so amusing?" he asked.

"You," she responded. "And me."

"Mmmm," he replied, and he suddenly looked incredibly tired, as though he had just considered something he hadn't thought of before. "I hear their voices, you know," he said, staring at her with weary eyes. "When everything is quiet… when I'm alone… I can hear them screaming. They scream for me to help them; to save them."

Sara leaned her forehead against his, her hands touching his face, gently sliding over his nose; his cheeks; his lips. _Maybe, _she thought, _if I show him it doesn't matter, that I still care for him, it'll be ok. _

"Sometimes I see their faces," he continued hoarsely, his warm breath caressing her fingertips. "Sometimes I think I'm going crazy."

"You're not going crazy, Grissom," she told him firmly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "and if you ever do – go crazy, that is – I'll still be right here."

Logically, he knew he wasn't going to go crazy. It was an implausible idea, so why was he even considering it? But he couldn't help himself. "Will you?" he questioned doubtfully. "Why would you…"

This time, she kissed him on the lips, successfully silencing him. "I'll be here," she assured him. "Promise."

For a moment he only stared at her in wonder, trying to comprehend what exactly had just happened. Then he seemed to shake himself, and kissed her hesitantly, tentatively, suddenly unsure of his right to do so. They stayed there for a while, kissing like a couple of teenagers, until Grissom pulled back. Sara froze, afraid that he was about to panic in true Grissom fashion. Her fears were laid to rest though when he merely wrapped his arms more tightly around her and rested his head on her shoulder.

"I think I'm dreaming," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

She smiled. "Is it a good dream?"

"It's… indescribably 'good.' Indescribably wonderful."

"I'm glad," she whispered in reply, running her fingers through his curls and kissing his jaw. "You deserve to be happy, Grissom." He sighed at that, and she frowned a bit. "Why do you always deny yourself anything that could bring you happiness?"

He shifted under her uncomfortably, and sighed again. "I told you, Sara… I was afraid. Nothing's free. Even happiness only comes at a price."

"That's not…"

"I was terrified, Sara. Terrified that the price would be too much. And I thought I didn't deserve it, anyways."

"Well, I say you do," Sara stated, kissing him firmly. "And I'm always right," she added, smiling as he 'mmmed' in response, causing his lips to vibrate on hers.

"All I have to do is stick with you then, hmmm?" he said, kissing her neck. "Nothing will ever go wrong, because you're always right… and I'll always be happy."

Sara grinned, shivering with happiness. "Yep, that's about right." It felt so good, to be able to say that in response to his statement and know for sure that it was true.

"Sounds like a plan," he murmured, and Sara suddenly realized that his eyes were drooping shut.

"Come on," she told him, "You have a lot of sleep to catch up on."

"'M not tired," he mumbled in protest as she stood and pulled him up with her.

"Liar."

"I'm not," he said again. "I just slept for…" he frowned, trying to figure it out, and then shrugged. "A long time."

"Not long enough," she assured him, and he pulled her warm body against his, drowsily kissing her neck. "And besides, half of that time wasn't really sleep. You were passed out drunk."

Grissom winced at that. "I guess I let things get away from me. I just… I couldn't handle… things, anymore."

"Well," she responded softly, "That's understandable. But next time, would you just… tell me? I promise I'll listen for as long as you need to talk."

"Mmmm."

"Come on," she repeated then, smiling as he kept a tight hold on her all the way back to his room.

When they got there, she caught sight of his sheets, still twisted into a bundle on the floor, and she sighed. Pulling out of his grasp, she sat him down on the chair in the corner of the room.

"Stay here," she told him, and he complied without question, watching as she began to remake the bed with clean blankets.

Sara was right, he was tired. And not just physically; he was emotionally drained as well. Maybe it would be good to get some more sleep. _So you can have another nightmare, _he thought, and swallowed hard. Then he caught Sara's eye as she pulled back the covers. _It's ok. Sara's here. She'll catch you. _Even to him the thought sounded stupid, and he pushed it away as he stood and walked over to stand beside her. _I can't do this again._

As he stood there, rocking back and forth on his heels, Sara noticed the apprehension on his face, and took his hand. "You want me to sleep with you?"

Grissom whipped around to stare at her, and Sara thought for sure he was going to blurt out 'no,' but then he swallowed, and looked down.

"Did you just say what I think you said?" he replied, a weak smile lifting his lips.

Sara couldn't help but return the look when she realized he was repeating what he had said so many months ago when she had asked him to sleep with her – for exactly the same purpose; to chase away the nightmares. It hadn't been a pleasant moment between them, and the fact that he was able to joke about it now made her suddenly feel incredibly light.

Grissom took a deep breath, the smile disappearing as he sat down on the bed. "Yes, please," he whispered.

Sara nodded. "All right," she responded, "Just give me a second, and I'll be right there." She disappeared out the door and Grissom lay down and rolled over onto his back, studying the ceiling and the shadows that were cast over it by the light seeping in from under the blinds. Every once in a while they would flicker, as a soft breeze shifted the window covering, and he shuddered. Even though she was only just in the other room, he still felt fear race through him at the thought of being alone. It angered him that he felt this way now. He was a grown man, for God's sake, he shouldn't be afraid of such things as shadows, and being alone. Before, he had always been alone, and it had never bothered him. Why was it that when he was alone these days, he found himself hearing dead people screaming and seeing dead people's faces?

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothing," he replied, watching as Sara re-entered the room, taking note of the look she gave him at his answer. _Maybe I'll tell her later, _he thought. Now that was a funny thought. Of course he wasn't going to tell her. _But why not? _he argued with himself._ You've already spilled your guts… why not go the rest of the way and be completely honest with her for once in your life? Why not…_

As Sara crawled under the sheets and lay down beside Grissom, she realized he was already half-asleep. "Good night, Grissom," she whispered, kissing him.

With a sigh, he moved closer, so their noses were almost touching, and took her hand in his. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was that he really, really liked being able to hold Sara Sidle's hand.

There were no more nightmares that day.


	14. Chapter 14: Confessions

A/N: Hanging my head in shame and apologizing again for the long wait. Thank you in advance to anyone who reviews this, I appreciate it a lot, especially knowing you guys are still sticking around even though I'm really bad about updating. Writer's block is really shitty.

Chapter 14: Confessions

"Are you sure? I could stay, you know. It wouldn't be a big deal."

"Yes, Sara, I'm sure," Grissom sighed as she asked the question for the third time that evening. "I'll be fine. And if you don't go now, you're going to be late for work."

Sara smiled sheepishly. She should have known it would have been too good to be true to have Grissom admit he didn't want her to go. It had taken her an hour alone of begging, threatening, cajoling and bribing to convince him to take another week off from work. And she was lucky to have that; he had almost blown his top when she suggested he start seeing Phillip Kane regularly, flat out refusing.

"It might help to talk about it, Grissom," she had pointed out, but he had shaken his head. He would talk to her, if he talked to anybody. It was then that he had awkwardly admitted he felt more comfortable discussing things with her, and she had prodded him in the ribs.

"Is that why you're having such a hard time stringing two words together?" she had teased. He had merely glared at her, and then taken her hand in his own and twined his fingers through hers. She had noticed that he liked to do that; she didn't mind, though. She liked it, too.

Now, as she stood at the door ready to leave, he kissed her gently.

"I can't believe I'm allowed to do this," he whispered softly, meeting her eyes. "For so many years, I could have… God, I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot," she responded, kissing him back. Then, she smiled a little. "Well, only sometimes."

He laughed, and she couldn't help but think that it was wonderful to see him like this again.

"I'll see you after work, all right?" she said, and he nodded, pulling her in for another sweet kiss before he released her. While he had said she didn't need to stay with him, Sara had insisted that she be allowed to come and see him after every shift. They would have breakfast together and talk before she went home to sleep, hopefully without interruptions this time.

"All right then, bye." She continued to linger, though, and Grissom shook his head.

"Go already," he commanded. Then his face softened, and he looked almost shy. "I'll be fine. I'll… I'll call you, if I need to… talk."

She nodded. "Ok." Steeling herself, she turned and walked down the steps to her SUV. As she put her bag in the vehicle, she glanced over her shoulder, and he waved. "Oh, God damn it," she muttered and, turning, she sprinted back to throw herself into his arms for one last tight hug and soft kiss before she finally forced herself to actually go.

As she drove off, Grissom sighed and leaned against his doorframe. His eyes closed,and acool evening breeze played over his face.He rubbed his palms together, imagining her hand in his again, realizing thathe already missed her.

* * *

By the time midnight rolled around Grissom thought he really was going crazy. He sat on his sofa, staring at his phone, wanting to call her. No, that wasn't right - not _wanting_ to call her, _needing _to call her. He needed to call Sara. But he couldn't, because he was still unable to convince himself that she wasn't helping him out of pity. Besides, she was probably busy; at a scene, or at the lab studying evidence. She didn't need him calling and distracting her.

_But she said, _he thought. _She said you could call._

_That doesn't mean anything._

Grissom swallowed hard, trying to distract himself by turning on the television. None of the programs being shown could hold his attention for long, however, and he glanced at the clock every few minutes, agonizing over how slowly the hands seemed to move. It was still hours before shift would be over, and he could see Sara again. And even then he would only be able to see her for a few hours before she went back to her own place. What would he do then?

_At least then it will be light, _he told himself. He immediately wished he hadn't thought it, because his eyes flickered to the shadows in the corners of the room. With a bitter smile, he got up and turned on the kitchen light, along with all of the lamps in the room. Then he wandered over to his radio and turned that on as well. Standing there, he fiddled with the dial for a while. Finally, he found a station that suited his mood. Really, it was more Greg's type of music than his – on any regular day he never would have listened to it – but right now, he needed something loud, with a strong beat and a sense of wildness to it; something that he could feel. But then he punched the 'off' button in anger as he remembered that it was midnight, and he'd catch hell from his neighbours if he turned it up. He needed to turn it up for it to work; needed it to be loud. Another sigh of frustration, another few minutes of pacing, and then he started shaking. Why couldn't the God damn voices shut up? Always screaming… didn't they know he couldn't save them? Didn't they know that it was over? As a drop of sweat slowly trickled down his neck, he curled up in the corner of his sofa.

_Shut up, shut up, shut up. I'm sorry, God damn it, I can't help you anymore! _But still the voices persisted.

"Oh God," he moaned, "I'm going crazy. Jesus, I'm going crazy."

And then, suddenly, Sara's voice overpowered those that rang in his brain. _"You're not going crazy, Grissom… And if you ever do, I'll still be right here… Promise." _For the next ten minutes he sat there and cried, and when the tears finally subsided he reached over and picked up the phone.

* * *

As Sara began collecting blood evidence, she allowed her mind to stray to thoughts of Grissom. She wondered how he was doing; whether he was scared, or worried; whether he was reading, or maybe watching TV. And she told herself over and over again that he would be fine. It wasn't hard, now, to convince herself of that fact. Even though she knew that his problems weren't over she still felt confident that things could only get better.

When she had shown up at work, it seemed that the others had sensed something had changed. No one had questioned her about Grissom, though they watched her closely, and their curiosity was almost palpable. It was only Warrick who had said anything, merely asking if everything was all right. Her reply was quick, accompanied by a smile. Yes, everything was fine. Better than fine, in fact, though she hadn't added that little bit of information. She was surprised that no one else had questioned her. At the very least, she had expected Nick to say something; the look in his eyes was the most intense, and she figured that it probably had something to do with Grissom's attack on him. _If things weren't personal enough before, they sure are now, _she thought wryly as she continued to work, glancing over at the Texan. He was bagging a bullet casing. In the relative darkness of the room, Sara could barely make out his black eye, but she knew it was there. Considering his capacity for guilt, Sara wondered whether Grissom would ever be able to look Nick in the face again. Suddenly, as though sensing her gaze, Nick glanced up with a questioning expression. Sara just smiled, and shook her head. For a moment she thought he would just go back to his work, but instead he stood, and made his way carefully across the room towards her.

"Can I, uh, ask you something?" He crouched down beside her.

"Sure, what's up?" she said.

"Did Grissom… did he talk to you at all, last night?"

Sara didn't reply at first as she sat back on her heels and regarded him thoughtfully. "Yeah," she finally responded slowly.

"Oh. Ok."

It seemed to Sara that he wanted to ask something else, but at the last minute he changed his mind and got up, returning to his work on the other side of the room. "That's it? That's all you wanted to ask?" Sara called after him.

"Uh, yeah," Nick replied, but Sara could tell he was lying. She decided to let it go for the time being, though. Whatever his question was, she might not be able to answer it anyway. A lot had happened last night, and she wasn't willing to talk about it just yet. Nor was she sure that Grissom would appreciate her telling anyone what he had said, or anything else. Shaking her head to clear it, she turned back to her work.

* * *

It was almost a full hour later whenSara's cell phone rang, and she snapped off her gloves and checked the caller ID. An electric spark raced through her body when she saw it was Grissom, and she glanced around her at the scene. They were almost finished processing.

"Hey, Nick," she called, "Do you think you can finish up? I kind of have to take this call. I swear I'll make it up to you."

Eyeing her suspiciously, Nick nodded. "Go ahead. Besides, I'd bet money that it's Grissom."

Sara kept her face completely blank. "What makes you say that?"

"The look on your face when you saw who it was," he grinned. "Answer the damn phone before he gives up on you, will you? Or chickens out… that might happen first, knowing him."

At that Sara couldn't help but return his smile. "You got it, Texas," she called over her shoulder as she flicked open her phone and walked outside.

"Hey, Grissom, what's up?" As much as she had wanted him to, she hadn't really expected Grissom to follow up on his promise to call if he needed to talk. It was a pleasant surprise.

"I, uh, just wanted to, to see how you were doing."

"Oh, that's nice," Sara smiled to herself. _Yeah, right, _she thought. But if he really wanted to talk, he'd get around to it when he was ready.

"Well," Grissom's voice came again, pulling her back to the conversation at hand, "Actually, that's not true. I just, uh, wanted to…" He trailed off, and even though she couldn't see him Sara imagined him squirming uncomfortably.

"You ok?" she asked gently.

"Yeah, yeah, fine."

"So what is it, Gris?"

A long moment of silence was suddenly broken by a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Just, uh, tired of listening to the voices of people who aren't there," he finally said, the words tumbling out easier than he thought they would.

Sara pursed her lips, and leaned back against the side of the house. "Want to talk?"

From his silence she discerned he was suddenly feeling shy, and probably worrying that he was bothering her. She was proved right when she heard him swallow. "No, it's ok. You're, uh, probably busy at a scene, or something."

Answering quickly in an attempt to banish any of his doubts, Sara tried to sound light-hearted as she spoke. "Nope, not at a scene. I was actually just taking a coffee break." Unfortunately, her words didn't have the desired effect of convincing him she was free.

"You're on a break? Damn. I'm sorry, I didn't realize… I better go."

"Gris," Sara burst out, sounding exasperated and amused at the same time, "it's fine. Just talk to me, will you?"

"Oh." His voice had an apologetic tone to it, and she suddenly felt bad for him.

"Hey, it's ok, Grissom, I swear. Talk to me."

"I, uh… I just…" he froze.

_Come on, Grissom, _Sara thought, biting her lip. If he couldn't do this now, how would he be able to talk to her face to face? _Maybe last night was just… an overload, of sorts. Maybe it'll be weeks before it gets bad enough for him to actually talk to you again. _This unhappy line of thought was banished, however, asGrissom managed to conquer his worries and fears for a second.

"It's so different, Sara, being the victim instead of the investigator… I mean, all those people, the ones we investigate… there's so many of them. Do they all live like this? Are they scared all the time? I… remember last night? You asked me what I was thinking, and I said 'nothing.' I lied. I was thinking about how I was an adult who's scared of the shadows. I'm scared of being alone, yet I'm scared of being with people too. What if they realized that something was really wrong with me? All those people out there… do they feel like this? Do they wake up screaming every night? How many of them have thought about suicide?" At his last, desperate question Grissom's mouth snapped shut. Crap. He hadn't meant to say that. Maybe she wasn't listening.

But she was, and his words made her knees go weak. "Grissom… I… you didn't… tell me you didn't."

_Now, _Grissom thought, _would be a good time to explain yourself, Gil. _"I… Sara... it was only once," he stumbled over the words. "A couple of months ago. You guys were all really busy, nobody had come to see me in two days, and I had just had a really bad nightmare… I was hearing voices again. Suddenly I just… I thought 'this is never going to end, until you're dead,' and I…"

"Oh, God, Gris," she said painfully.

Trying to soothe her, he continued breathlessly. "I didn't try… anything. I swear. I realized what I was thinking and that… that scared me more than anything. I… I thought of you, and the way you looked when you came to the crime scene." He swallowed hard. "You were crying. I remember… I wanted to tell you that I was ok, that it would be ok, but I couldn't. And then I thought, 'why the hell are you considering this, anyway? Hell, you haven't gone through half of what some of the people you investigate have gone through. Don't be a wimp.'"

"You should have called me, the minute you started thinking that way," she told him fiercely as she wiped at the tears in her eyes. "Why didn't you call me? I would have come in an instant."

"I know you would have, Sara, but I just… couldn't," he whispered, his voice strained.

* * *

Standing on the other side of the door, Nick could only imagine what they were talking about. Sara's side of the conversation hadn't been very revealing, but by the sound of her voice it was something that terrified her.

"You should have called me, the minute you started thinking that way," he heard her say, and he crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to stop the chill that penetrated his body. Grissom wouldn't try to commit suicide. Would he? Unable to stop the question from circulating in his brain over and over again, Nick walked away from the door and began to pack up his kit. He didn't want to hear anymore; it was too nerve-wracking, trying to fill in the blanks and coming up with highly worrisome answers.

* * *

As Nick turned onto the main road out of the neighbourhood, he glanced over at Sara. She and Grissom had talked for a good half an hour after he had finished, and Nick guessed that the conversation hadn't been very uplifting for Sara seemed a bit subdued. It wasn't until fifteen minutes of painful silence had passed that the Texan finally spoke up, albeit hesitantly.

"Grissom ok?" he asked.

"He's fine," came the soft response. But Nick guessed there was probably more to it than that. Taking into account the fact that she hadn't sounded angry at his question, he pushed ahead.

"I uh, kind of overhead you guys… it didn't sound very good."

At that Sara's gaze snapped around to stare at him, and he flicked his own eyes back to the road so he wouldn't have to look at her. "I didn't mean to," he muttered. Then, when she still didn't speak, he glanced at her desperately. "It sounded like he was thinking about trying to… you know." He didn't want to say it.

Sara sighed, knowing exactly what he was thinking despite his inability to verbalize it. "I don't really feel comfortable talking about this with you, Nick. If Grissom wants to talk to you, he will."

"I just…"

"But I will say he's fine, Nick," she continued, in a softer tone. "Really. And…" she hesitated for a moment, "It was only once. Some time ago. Thinking about it scared him more than anything."

"Ok," Nick murmured, looking upset that the thought of suicide had actually crossed Grissom's mind but relieved at the same time, because it was over.

_If Grissom ever finds out I told him that, I can just say we got our wires crossed and I thought Nick was talking about something else, _Sara thought. While she felt slightly guilty about breaking Grissom's confidence, she couldn't help but feel that Nick deserved to know. He practically worshipped their supervisor, though he tended to hide it well, and she knew if he had been forced to consider something like that for the rest of the night he would have been extremely anxious and difficult to be around. Plus, she trusted him to understand the sensitive nature of what she had told him. _Way to go, Sara, _she thought to herself, _you sound like a bloody federal officer or something. _

It wasn't until they were almost back at the lab that Nick spoke again. "Hey, Sara, do you think I could, uh, swing by Grissom's place after work and, uh, see how he's doing?"

_Why are you asking me, Nick? _she thought, but out loud she said, "Sure, I guess. Um, I can phone him if you want; to let him know that you're coming. I'm sure you'll be more than welcome to join us for breakfast." As much as she didn't want Nick intruding on her time with Grissom, she thought maybe it would be best for both Grissom and Nick to talk before the tension between them became unbearable. She didn't want them to become uncomfortable with each other over something that could be resolved so easily. _You won't be able to kiss him, if Nick's there, _she thought, and scowled to herself. Why couldn't Nick just come over some other time? Suddenly, she realized he was speaking, and she forced herself to listen.

"If you guys are having breakfast, I don't want to interrupt," he was saying.

_Take the opening, Sara. _But she just shook her head. "No, it's fine. You guys should probably talk, anyway."


	15. Chapter 15: Flapjacks and Bull Riding

Chapter 15: Flapjacks and Bull Riding

"You did phone Grissom and ask if I could come, right?" Nick questioned as Sara unlocked the door to Grissom's townhouse.

Rolling her eyes at her friend, Sara pushed him into the foyer. "Yes, Nick, relax." _Only a little white lie, _she thought before she glanced around to find, with great relief, that Grissom was nowhere in sight. It would give her a little extra time to explain herself. "Just wait here for a minute, will you? I'll go find him. Be right back."

"Uh, sure," Nick muttered, but she had already disappeared around the corner.

Forcing herself not to worry about Grissom's reaction when she told him who she had brought for breakfast, Sara made her way into the living room.

"Grissom?"

He sat up from the couch with a start, looking surprised. "Hey," he said shyly, standing. Sara couldn't help but smile at the image he presented – completely unsure of himself. She opened her mouth to speak, but changed her words at the last minute when she saw something clutched in his hand.

"What's that, Gris?"

He glanced down, as though just remembering he was holding it, and then tried to hide it behind his back, shrugging as a light blush spread over his cheeks. "Nothing," he muttered.

"Come on, Gris," she teased, "What is it?" Gently, she managed to pry the object from his hand, and couldn't help the grin that spread over her face as she saw that it was a small clock. "So, how long was I gone?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, a little sheepishly. "I only started counting after I called you."

Shaking her head, Sara reached out and squeezed his arm comfortingly. "Well, I'm here now, as I'm sure you can see."

Almost before she had finished speaking, in a burst of confidence, Grissom had pulled her in for a kiss and a tight hug. For a few seconds Sara allowed herself to become caught up in it, but then a picture of Nick standing alone in the foyer of the house jumped unbidden to her mind and she leaned back.

Grissom looked worried, and touched her face hesitantly. "What's wrong? Did I…"

Sara shook her head and cut him off, covering his hand with hers. "I uh, forgot. Nick's waiting in the foyer. I brought him by for breakfast."

"What?" For a moment Sara worried that Grissom was going into shock; he was completely still for a few seconds. Then he glanced around the room with that trapped look in his eyes and Sara knew he was searching for a way out. It wasn't long before he realized that there was no way he was going to avoid this, and he turned back to Sara desperately. "Sara, I can't…"

"Yes, you can, Grissom. I know you can." Taking a step forward, she placed another gentle kiss on his mouth. "And I'm always right, remember?" she added, but he still looked worried, and she brushed her lips across his cheek before pulling back to a respectable distance. "It'll be fine," she told him. He gave her a weak smile, which she returned, before turning towards the door. "Hey, Nick, you can come on in!"

Nick appeared from around the corner in a second, raising a hand in a small wave of greeting to Grissom. "Hey, Gris."

Upon seeing the Texan's black eye and the still visible red marks on his neck, Grissom felt a wave of guilt rush through him, and he looked away. "Hi."

"Sorry about just dropping in on you like this," Nick continued as if he wasn't aware of the sudden tension in the room, "but Sara said she called ahead and told you I was coming."

Sara frowned. _What the hell? How did he…? _She cringed as she realized. Damn him! Why did he always have to eavesdrop? Grissom, completely oblivious to the fact that their cover had been blown on only the second day, kept his eyes on the ground. Desperately, he racked his brain for something to say to Nick. Luckily, he was saved when the Texan spoke.

"So, now that I'm here," he drawled, "Do you want me to make you breakfast? If I do say so, I'm a wonderful cook."

About to reply irritably that he was perfectly capable of making breakfast for the three of them himself, Grissom caught himself just in time. _He only wants to make you breakfast, Gil, relax, _he thought. Taking a breath, he gave a small smile.

"That would be nice," he said, and was surprised to find the words were genuine. Plus, he was rewarded with a stunning grin from Sara.

"All right," Nick began, rubbing his hands together as he glanced around, looking for the kitchen. Grissom pointed the way. "Oh," Nick tossed over his shoulder, "And I hope you have the right ingredients for pancakes, because that's all I can make."

"So much for 'I'm a wonderful cook,'" Grissom muttered, and Sara punched his arm lightly.

"Hey, mister, don't complain, we have our own chef."

"Yeah, but don't you wish he was from France instead of Texas? I'm surprised he didn't call them 'flapjacks,' or something."

* * *

"So, uh, Grissom, how you been?"

Grissom cringed at the question. He had thought that breakfast was going rather well; the pancakes were good, and though things were slightly strained it was definitely a more relaxing atmosphere than others of late. Now Nick had to go and ruin it.

"Fine, Nick," he said pointedly, hoping the Texan would take the hint. But he seemed oblivious.

"I mean, if it was me, I'd have a hard time getting over it. I'd probably…"

"Nick!" Grissom cut in, and the younger man fell silent, though it was a stony, almost defiant silence. And, much to Grissom's consternation, Sara chose that moment to finish up her breakfast and slide back from the table.

"Well, there's a show on TV that I want to watch, so I'll see you guys. Be in the living room if you need anything."

"Sara…" Grissom began, but she was already gone, and he stared after her with irritation and downright anger in his eyes. Damn it.

"I guess it's just us two," Nick said.

"Way to state the obvious," Grissom snapped, and then it was his turn to fall silent as another wave of guilt washed through him. Shit, he couldn't do anything right. Why had he said that, anyway? _You're not yourself, Gil, don't take yourself so seriously. Don't take Nick so seriously. And for God's sake, don't freak out at him again. _

"Sorry," he muttered, looking away again.

Nick took a deep breath. "Look, Grissom, I don't blame you for what happened. I realize that it was nobody's fault, and while it probably could have been avoided, it wasn't. So that's that. It's over. Can't we just forget about it?"

Grissom didn't respond, and Nick sighed. "Grissom..."

"Look, Nick, if you can forget about it just like that, more power to you," Grissom interrupted, and his voice had a strange quality to it that Nick couldn't quite place. It was a bit disconcerting, until suddenly he realized something.

"Grissom, why do you always assume the guilt?"

At that, Grissom's gaze snapped up from his plate, and his eyes were slightly haunted as he stared at Nick. "Excuse me? I don't…"

"The robbery; you blame yourself for that, and you let that guilt eat away at you when in fact nothing that happened that day was your fault."

"Nick, I…"

"And the incident in the break room," he continued, gesturing to his black eye, "You take all the blame and hold onto your guilt, for God knows what reason. You're like a masochist or something. Why the hell do you do it? Realistically, what happened in the break room was probably my fault. I should have known better than to try and wake up a person having a nightmare like that. I should have just let you wake yourself up. But no, I had to try and intervene, so stop beating yourself up over this, will you? And the whole robbery thing; Gris, the kid who robbed the store and shot those people is to blame, not you. There was nothing you could do; nothing. Why can't you just let it go?"

As soon as Nick stopped talking there was dead silence, and Grissom could only stare in shock, his mouth slightly open, as the younger man stared at him, waiting for an answer. Had Nick actually just said all that to him? Nicky Stokes; the good old boy from the south, who had only ever stood up to him once in the years they had been working together, and used to become flustered every time he had to work a crime scene with his supervisor? And then exactly what the good old boy from the south had actually said started to sink in, and Grissom swallowed hard.

"Why do you do it, Gris? Don't you have to deal with enough at work every night without holding onto these feelings?"

There was a sharp stab of pain in Grissom's chest, and he clenched his hands into fists. _Ignore him, _his mind screamed, but suddenly he found himself talking. "I'm kind of… stuck on autopilot, I guess," he choked out.

Nick cocked his head to the side. "Isn't everything supposed to run smoothly on autopilot?"

"Maybe mine's kind of messed up," Grissom muttered in reply.

Nick shrugged. "So why don't you let us help you fix it?"

There was no response as Grissom looked away. It was a few seconds before he finally turned back, and his gaze was unsure. "I don't know," he murmured.

"Or you know and you just don't want to tell me."

The way Grissom's jaw muscle twitched, and his hands clenched slightly gave Nick his answer, and he shook his head.

"Well if you won't tell me, at least tell Sara, will you? Maybe she can sort you out."

"Why would I tell Sara?" Grissom said defensively, and Nick grinned.

"Oh, give me a break, if I was deaf, dumb and blind I might not notice." Then he ducked his head, as though expecting to get something thrown at him as he continued. "Plus, I heard you guys talking earlier."

With Grissom once again caught speechless, Nick quickly pushed back from the table and took his opportunity to escape. "Uh, you know, I think I just might want to see that show that Sara's watching." With that, he disappeared into the other room and Grissom was left to try and sort out his thoughts as he pushed his half-eaten pancakes around on his plate.

"Damn it, Nick," he muttered.

_He doesn't know what he's talking about, _Grissom thought then. _He's never seen a little boy shot point blank in front of him; never had the blood of innocent people spray over his face and cling to his skin for days afterwards. _

_But Sara said the same things that he said, _came that annoying little voice. _Is she wrong?_

Grissom did not want to think about that. If Sara was right, then Nick was right, and he wasn't. He couldn't be right, because if he were right, then Grissom wouldn't feel pain every waking second of every day. If Nick were right, then Grissom would never have had the thought that the only way for all this to end was to die.

Suddenly angry, he stabbed at his pancakes viciously. By the time he realized the absurdity of what he was doing, his breakfast had been annihilated and the soggy pile of mush before him looked highly unappetizing. It was enough to turn his stomach, and he grimaced as he got up and scraped the remains into the garbage can. Setting his plate in the sink, he sagged wearily against the kitchen counter. He was unsure whether he was angry with Nick because the younger man had butted in where he wasn't wanted, or because he had assumed the guilt for the incident in the break room and then shed it with such ease.

_You're like a masochist or something._

Nick's words rang in his head, and Grissom gave a soft, humourless laugh. _Yeah, that's right, Nick, _he thought sarcastically, _I really enjoy feeling like this all the time. I really enjoy seeing the faces of dead people every night, and hearing their voices every time I let my guard down. It just brings me so much pleasure. _Jesus Christ. His hands were shaking again, and he glanced down at them in anger and fear. _It'll stop, _he told himself. _It has to stop. _And then he remembered telling Greg the same thing, after the lab had exploded. He also remembered that he had made a mess of that conversation; made it sound like all he cared about was Greg's work, and telling the younger man that the shaking would stop had been a last ditch attempt to salvage the conversation.

But now it was different. Now it wasn't Greg's hands that were shaking, it was his. _Stop it, _he thought, gritting his teeth. _Just stop thinking about it. _

Gathering his courage, he pulled himself upright again and made his way into the living room.

* * *

Nick sat on the sofa next to Sara, watching the TV, but Sara stared right at Grissom when he walked through the door; it was then that he realized she must have been waiting for him all along.

"Hey, Gris," she said, flashing him a grin, patting the sofa on the other side of her. Nick glanced at him, smiling a greeting, but then turned his attention back to the TV where the PBR World Finals were airing, live. As Grissom sank down on the couch beside Sara, she leaned over and rolled her eyes. "I figured I better let him pick the show, because he made breakfast."

"Hey," Nick protested, wincing as a cowboy almost got trampled by an angry bull, "This is good stuff. It's the world finals, for God's sake. It's gonna be a long time before they're in Vegas again."

"What?" Grissom glanced at the younger man in confusion. "Nick, if the show's in Vegas, why are you watching it here in my living room?"

Nick shrugged. "Tickets sold out."

"Uh huh," Grissom muttered, so quietly that Sara had to lean closer to hear. "That's nice. It's encouraging to know that people will pay to go watch men get their skulls bashed in by a one tonne animal."

"What was that, Gris?" Nick asked, glancing distractedly at his supervisor.

Grissom shook his head, and glanced down at his still shaking hands. "Nothing, Nick. It's nothing."

For a few long moments the only sounds were those of the cheering crowd and the bull, slamming its body against the sides of its pen as the cowboy tried to mount it. Grissom frowned, and his gaze drifted towards the window where the bright sun spilled into the room. It wasn't enough; he still felt cold. And then, suddenly, he felt something warm on his skin, and he glanced down to see that Sara had taken his hand in hers and was gently rubbing her thumb over his palm. She gave him a little smile, and then rested her head on his shoulder as she turned back to the TV. Grissom didn't even notice when his hands stopped shaking, he was so busy trying to memorize the feeling of having Sara leaning against him like that.

It wasn't until he felt eyes staring at him that he glanced up to meet Nick's gaze. Caught staring, the Texan just grinned sheepishly and turned away, hoping Grissom wouldn't get upset. But Grissom was far from upset; he felt as though suddenly a huge weight had lifted off his shoulders and as warmth seeped into him he wrapped his arm around Sara's shoulder and pulled her closer. And suddenly he realized that this was what he needed - to be able to sit here with Sara and hold her and watch ridiculous things on TV for absolutely no reason at all. To feel warm and comfortable and know that for once there was nothing wrong.

As another cowboy slammed into the dust, Sara snuggled closer, and Grissom kissed the top of her head. His hands were shaking again, but it wasn't from fear.

_

* * *

He was surrounded by nothingness – black nothingness. But this wasn't right; it wasn't supposed to be this way. Sara was supposed to be here. Frantically, he looked all around for her, but she was nowhere to be seen._

_"Sara!" he screamed. Where was she? She had promised she would be there for him. She had promised. _

_"I'll be here… Promise."_

_"Sara!" He began to run, but he didn't know where. He couldn't see anything; the darkness had completely consumed him, and suddenly he felt a shot of terror. The shadows; it was always what was in the shadows that got you. _

_"Sara!" And then the ground gave out beneath him and he fell, tumbling head over heels as though rolling down a hill except there was no grass under him; no warm sun overhead. "Sara!"_

Later that day Grissom woke screaming her name, the feeling of his sweat-soaked clothes against his skin and the sheets tangled around his legs bringing him back to reality faster even than the warm sunlight that leaked through the blinds to bathe him in a warm glow.

Without even thinking he pulled the phone on the bedside table to him and hit speed dial; a second later her voice came, sounding sleepy.

"Sidle."

He couldn't speak. "Sara…"

"Grissom? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just…" he paused, and in the patient silence that followed a verse from an old Paul Simon song slipped into his mind.

_This is the story of how we begin to remember  
__This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein  
__After the dream of falling and calling your name out  
__These are the roots of rhythm  
__And the roots of rhythm remain_

"I… I had a dream. It was dark, and you weren't there, and I… I kept thinking 'she promised. She promised she'd be here.' I just… got scared, and I started running, and then suddenly I was falling and I… guess I thought that if I screamed your name enough times, you'd be there."

"I'm here, Gris," she soothed him. "I promised, and I intend to keep that promise. Don't worry about it, all right?"

"Ok," he muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to wake you, I just…"

"Hey, Grissom, you don't have to apologize, it's not a big deal. Honestly. I'm here, whenever you need me."

And for some reason Grissom couldn't find it in him to doubt her. "I know," he whispered.

"So, anything else?" she asked, and Grissom heard her yawn.

"No, I'm all right, thanks," he responded, a smile coming to his face. "I'll, uh, see you…"

"Tonight," she mumbled sleepily. "I'll come by tonight before shift. Love you."

Grissom's eyebrows shot up at her statement. "Uh, yeah, I, uh…" he began, and then he realized that she had already hung up. _She's just tired, _he thought, slightly flustered as he replaced the phone on the table, _it's just because she's tired. She's been up all this time taking care of you; of course she's a bit confused. _But as he lay there he kept hearing her say those words over and over again. _Love you. _

_Yeah, _he thought as he drifted off to sleep again, _I love you too. _


	16. Chapter 16: The Way You Loved Me

A/N: Ok, last chapter, guys. Thanks a lot to everyone who has stuck with me through it all despite the fact that I'm so bad at updating, and special thanks to Courtney242, Tanguay18, Billy4Me and brainfear, who all reviewed the last chapter.:) You guys are the greatest. I think this chapter is a pretty good end to the story, hope everyone else likes it too. Oh, and the song is _On The Way Down, _by Ryan Cabrera, and I don't own it.

Chapter 16: The Way You Loved Me

"Sara, I really don't want to do this."

Glancing at her companion, Sara rolled her eyes. "Yes, Grissom, I know. You've told me about a million times in the past day."

"Technically, I've only said it about ten times; you wouldn't know the correct number because you weren't listening. You still aren't listening. I really don't want to do this."

"And that makes it eleven times," Sara informed him as she pulled into a free parking spot. There was a long moment of silence then as they sat, Sara waiting for Grissom to take initiative and exit the vehicle and Grissom waiting for Sara to get out so he would have the courage to do so as well. After Nick's visit, his week off had passed quickly. Catherine had come over on one occasion, to see how he was doing, and Warrick had stopped by once as well, but neither of them had stayed very long, for which Grissom was grateful. He wasn't quite ready to talk to them just yet, and he much preferred being alone with Sara. Over the days they had discussed many things, both serious and trivial, and Grissom had slowly begun to come to terms with everything that had happened. He still woke often in the night, soaked in sweat and shaking with fear, and he still disliked being alone for long periods of time in the dark, but he was slowly coming out of the depression he had sunk into. There had been visible changes in him, and Sara felt herself grin every time she saw him and realized that he looked better still. Better rested, better fed, and more at ease. And now it was the last night of his vacation and Catherine had decided that they would all go out for dinner before shift. It was, she had admitted to Sara after she voiced the idea, something that she wanted to do in replacement of the party they had planned for Grissom months earlier. And, in a way, something that she felt needed to be done, both for Grissom and for the rest of the team who were still trying to really understand everything that had happened in the whirlwind week that Grissom had returned to the office.

And now Sara and Grissom found themselves sitting outside Catherine's restaurant of choice, with Grissom at first attempting to talk her in circles in an effort to stall the inevitable. Soon, however, he merely lapsed into silence, finding that if he didn't speak or move, neither would she.

He had been disagreeable from the minute Sara had told him about the dinner, and had and was making his opinions known to her. Sara knew, though, that his unwillingness to comply with Catherine's request was caused by the worry and doubts he still harboured about seeing his team again. Of the things they had talked about over the week, guilt had been the topic that had come up most often. It was apparent that Grissom felt that by returning to work before he was completely ready he had been selfish, and had caused undue stress to his team. He had told Sara on the third day that he wasn't sure he would be able to face them again anytime soon, to which she had responded that he had already talked with Nick, and Warrick and Catherine had visited. There was no reason for him to be worried. He had merely shaken his head, and looked away. _"It's… it's not the same. I can't explain it," _he had said, and it had been obvious that their discussion was over for the time being.

So, as her watch continued to tick out the minutes in the dead silence of the SUV, Sara waited for Grissom to make the first move. He needed to do this for himself. And finally, after close to ten minutes, her patience was rewarded as he hesitantly reached out and pushed the door open.

"You coming?" he asked, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.

"Yep," she said, flashing a grin at him, "Let's get in there."

* * *

As they entered the restaurant, Grissom glanced around nervously. He felt stupid at the sudden urge to grab Sara's hand, and he resisted the impulse as the waitress at the front desk pointed them towards where the team were already seated beside the dance floor. 

"Hey, Grissom, hey Sara," Catherine called as they made their way over, and the rest of the team looked up as well. Grissom felt his stomach flip over, and he took a breath to calm himself as he attempted to return the smiles and greetings that were being sent his way.

"Hey, Cath. Nicky. Warrick." He nodded to Brass and Greg, and took an empty seat opposite Catherine and beside Sara, who had already plopped herself down and grabbed a menu.

Waiting for their waitress to get around to them, the group discussed everything and nothing, and Grissom found it relaxing, as he began to realize what Sara had told him all along; that not only did no one blame him, they wanted to help him. And he realized that that was exactly what they were all doing here; helping him adjust, helping him get over it. Sara had been a big help, and would continue to be, but he also needed this, and he felt an incredible weight lift from his shoulders at the revelation. He grinned, and took a sip from his drink.

"What are you so happy about?" Brass asked, raising an eyebrow at the sudden look of happiness on his friend's face.

"Nothing," Grissom responded, but continued to smile as though to let them know that it was ok. His smile disappeared, however, when he put down his glass and Catherine reached out and caught his hand.

She pursed her lips as she ran her fingers over the rough skin. "Knuckles are healing pretty well," she said, glancing up athim, her eyes almost challenging.

Grissom resisted the urge to pull back as all talk stopped and everyone's eyes turned to him. _It's ok, _he thought. And a trace of a smile flickered across his face again as Catherine continued to inspect his hand. "Yeah," he said, "They feel all right. So does the wrist."

Smirking in satisfaction, Catherine relinquished her hold and leaned back in her chair. "Well that's good, Gil. Very good."

Grissom didn't respond as he took another sip of his drink, but he didn't have to say anything. It was perfectly clear from the look in his eyes that he was all right, and it was something that both surprised and pleased the group. Sara was the only one who didn't appear at all moved by what had just happened, and once again he couldn't help but grin as he thought, _she knew. She knew you'd be all right. _It gave him great satisfaction to think that she knew him that well, and trusted him that much. He was gong to be all right. Everything was going to be all right.

* * *

"I'm not," Greg muttered, "I'm just a lowly lab tech." 

"Yeah, right," Warrick responded hotly, "Any other time you want to be a big CSI like the rest of us, and now all of a sudden you're chickening out. Give me a break, man."

Greg flashed a cheeky little grin and turned back to his food. "Ah, Warrick, the joys of living within two worlds; if something ruins the balance in one you can retreat to the other."

The group had been happily gossiping about Ecklie over their dinner for the last ten minutes, but now all of the sudden Grissom had the distinct impression that they were all hiding something from him.

"Ok, will somebody just tell me?" he finally broke into their argument. Even Sara looked quite unsure of herself, and he felt himself go cold. What the hell was it? Had Ecklie said something to the Sheriff? Was he going to have to take another 'vacation?' As much as this one had helped him, he didn't want to repeat the experience any time soon. But then as he continued to run through the options he forced himself to calm down. It couldn't be that bad if Greg was still grinning away over there. It… His train of thought was cut off as Nick spoke up.

"You tell him, Sara," the Texan demanded.

"What?" Sara blurted. "Why?"

As Nick opened his mouth to reply, a mischievous look in his eye, Sara held up her hands in defeat.

"Ok, ok," she muttered. She didn't want Nick opening his big mouth about her and Grissom yet; it would be just her luck if he did and Grissom had a full blown panic attack. Nervously, she glanced at the man beside her, who was waiting expectantly. Oh, God. "Uh, Gris… while you… were away… I, uh... well, Ecklie…"

"Spit it out, Sara," he growled. "Aren't I supposed to be the one who has trouble stringing two words together?"

Giving him a dirty look, Sara blurted the words out quickly. It was like ripping off a Band-aid in one go. "WhileyouweregoneEckliecleanedoutthebreakroomfridge."

"Huh?" Confusion was evident on Grissom's face.

"Well, Grissom, what she's trying to say," Brass interceded, "is that while you were gone, Ecklie, God have mercy on his slimy soul, decided to, uh, clean up the break room."

"And how does this affect me?" Grissom asked, folding his arms over his chest. His voice had a tinge of sarcasm as he added, "I'm sure it affects me in some way, really, I'm sure. I'm just having difficulty seeing the connection."

"The break room," Warrick supplied. "And the break room fridge."

Grissom cocked his head, blinking as slowly he began to realize. "He cleaned the fridge?"

"And, well… I'm sorry, Gris, his excuse was the break room fridge is for food, not…"

"My experiments?" Grissom bellowed. "He threw out my experiments?"

Sara winced, covering her ears as several other patrons turned to stare. "Uh, Gris, keep it down, will you?"

"My experiments!" he continued disbelief written all over his face. "I've been working on some of those for months! Months wasted; completely wasted. My experiments!" Enraged, he began to rise from his seat, but Sara pushed him back down.

"Take it easy, will you?" she hissed, not sure whether to be worried or amused that he was reacting like this. "It's not like you can go and beat him."

"My experiments!" he repeated, and his eyes were wide as though he were in shock. It didn't appear that he was going to storm off the find Ecklie anytime soon, though, so Sara let go of his arm.

Seeing that a crisis had been averted, the team suddenly saw the hilarity of the situation. They had, after all, pestered Grissom often about removing his experiments. He had always ignored him, and now he didn't have the choice of taking them and putting them in another fridge of his own free will. Ecklie had taken care of them for him.

"That went well," Greg chuckled, and then he suddenly burst into laughter. Nick, Warrick and Catherine soon followed, while Brass and Sara merely smirking as Grissom glared at them, incensed.

"This isn't funny, Catherine, stop it!" he warned, but none of them could stop as tears began streaming down their faces. Realizing that trying to stop them was futile, Grissom settled for pushing his food around his plate and sulking quietly. He had always disliked Ecklie, but now he _hated _him. What kind of man threw out a scientist's experiments, anyways? _A non-scientific minded weasel like Ecklie, _he thought darkly.

"Is everything ok over here?"

"Huh?" Grissom glanced up as their waitress hovered sternly over their table.

"Is everything all right?" She surveyed the group with thinly veiled suspicion on her face.

Seeing that no one else was going to answer, Grissom gave her what he hoped was a warm smile. "Yes, everything's fine." _Slimy bugger. I should put his head in a jar and place it beside Miss Piggy in my office. Teach him to mess with my experiments. _"The food is very good," he said, forcing his smile wider in an effort to convince her to leave. Apparently it succeeded, because she disappeared again, and the rest of the team began to settle down, Catherine sighing as she complained about her stomach.

"You'll get no sympathy from me," Grissom said bluntly, stabbing his fork at her across the table. "Where were you while all this was happening?"

Realizing she was about to be crucified, Catherine bit her lip to stop from snorting at the look on his face. "I was, uh, in your office, doing paperwork."

"Nick and me were out in the field," Warrick offered.

Brass shrugged when Grissom pinned him to the chair with his gaze. "I wasn't even in the lab that night, my friend, don't look at me."

"I was in the break room when he did it," Greg said, staring at nothing as he remembered. "I figured I should say something, but he was in a foul…" suddenly he realized that Grissom was staring at him, his blue eyes shooting daggers.

"Uh, I, I tried to stop him, Gris, really, I told him, and I tried to fish them out of the garbage can, but…"

"Stop speaking, Greg," Grissom warned in a low voice.

Greg's mouth snapped shut, and he swallowed hard as he put his hand to his neck. It was highly disconcerting the way Grissom was eyeing his jugular and fiddling with that knife. Highly disconcerting.

* * *

"Come on, Gris, dance with me." 

"Catherine, I said no. I don't want to dance." He didn't say what he was thinking – _I don't want to dance with _you.

"Oh, come on, _please?_"

After learning about the unfortunate demise of his experiments, Grissom had been a bit subdued, but everyone had been relieved when he had bounced back and joined in the conversation again. Then the music had started, and Catherine had started pestering him to dance with her.

"No, Catherine," he said again as she nudged his leg sharply under the table. "I don't want to dance."

Everyone at the table realized that by getting him to dance Catherine hoped to get him to relax and have a bit of fun, even Grissom himself, but it was apparent that he wanted nothing to do with her and her little plan.

"Just one, Gil," she begged, and Grissom shook his head again. Ducking his head, he glanced sideways quickly at Sara, who was smirking at his predicament. God, he wanted to dance with her. Why couldn't Catherine just go away?

Sitting opposite Grissom and Sara, Nick saw the way his boss glanced at the woman beside him, and he smiled as he remembered the morning he had had breakfast at Grissom's place. Poor Grissom; he didn't want to dance with Catherine – it was obvious he was dying to be with Sara. _Except what are the odds he can't figure out how to ask her? _The Texan thought with a smirk before taking pity on the older man and intervening just as Catherine grabbed his arm and was about to pull him out onto the dance floor.

"Uh, hey, Cath, Warrick's a good dancer, why don't you get him to go with you?"

"Huh, what?" Warrick, who had been talking to Greg at the other end of the table, turned to stare, a look of shock on his face. _Shit, shit, shit, _he thought, _what the hell are you doing, Nick? _

"What do you say, 'Rick?" Nick prodded.

Warrick just gaped as Catherine raised an eyebrow at him.

"You dance, Warrick?"

"I…" Nick prodded his friend in the ribs, and Warrick jumped as he collected himself. "Uh, yeah, my grandma made me take lessons when I was in high school."

Sending a look Grissom's way, Catherine grabbed his hand. "Well come on, then, I love dancing. You're probably better than Grissom, anyway."

With Catherine dancing and unable to pester him anymore, Grissom fell back into the conversation again, trying to ignore the looks Nick was sending his way. He might not be that great at relationships, but he knew exactly what the Texan was trying to tell him, and he did not want Nick involved. Sara had told him that Nick knew about them the day after the breakfast, and he had surprised even himself by taking it rather well. He had decided that, while he enjoyed his privacy, it wouldn't be the end of the world if the rest of the team knew about them. Besides, if the team knew, then that would mean he wouldn't have to worry about not being able to hold her hand when they went out together, or even worry about being able to dance with her. Of course, it seemed he wouldn't have had to worry about that anyways as he couldn't seem to actually work up the courage to ask. Finally, when his brain had gone over the possible options about a million times, he excused himself and disappeared into the bathroom. Hidden from sight, he leaned wearily against the wall with a sigh of frustration. Crap. He was such an idiot. He stayed there for as long as he thought he could get away with, agonizing over his options before finally, he splashed his face with cold water to wake him up and exited the room.

* * *

It had been almost ten minutes since Grissom had excused himself and disappeared to the bathroom, and Sara was beginning to wonder where the heck he might be. 

When Catherine and Warrick finally returned to the table, flushed and giving each other sideways looks that were meant to be discreet, Sara glanced around worriedly. "Hey, did you guys see Grissom when you were up there?"

"Uh, no, sorry," Catherine responded, but Sara could tell she wasn't really paying attention as she turned back to Warrick and the two continued their discussion. Brass, Nick and Greg just shrugged at her, glancing around as they, too, searched for Grissom with their eyes. As a new song began to play and more people stepped out onto the dance floor, Greg suddenly grinned. Sara frowned.

"What?" she asked suspiciously. Greg didn't answer.

"Um, Sara?"

She turned at the soft touch on her shoulder and the sound of his voice as she sighed in relief. "Oh, Gris, hey, we were wondering where you were."

"I, uh…" he stumbled over his words, and behind Sara Nick ducked his head as he fought not to grin. The rest of the team stared in confusion and curiosity. "I was wondering if you would… dance. With me."

As he said the words Sara's face split in a soft smile. Wow. This was way more than she had hoped for tonight. As far as she knew, he had been planning to keep their relationship a secret for a while yet. It was a pleasant surprise to find that he was going to get this over with now just so he could dance with her. "Grissom," she responded, "I'd love to dance with you."

It appeared that he had been holding his breath, as he released it suddenly in a great whoosh, and tentatively held out his hand. The music grew in the background as she took the offered hand, and as he led her out on the floor Sara was delighted to hear Catherine behind her, sounding completely shocked.

"What the hell?"

"What's the problem, Catherine?" Nick said gleefully, "Haven't you ever seen a couple before?"

"What?" Then the blonde realized what he was saying, and her eyes widened. "They… you knew! How could you know?"

"Oh God, oh no, it's over, say good by to Greggo," Greg said in disbelief as he banged his head against the table.

Warrick just shook his head, grinning widely, and Brass continued sipping his coffee as if he had known it was coming all along. "About time," he muttered.

Catherine's voice rose to a wail. "How could you know!"

"I'm an investigator, Catherine," Nick said smugly, but all he received for his troubles was a sharp kick in the shin.

He forgot all about the bruise, however, as Grissom carefully took Sara in his arms, and they began to dance together. To Nick, Grissom had always been invincible – scared of nothing. And now, here he was, looking nervous just dancing with Sara Sidle. Oh, well, love could do that to a person.

For the first few seconds, as they danced, they were silent, Grissom trying to calm his wildly beating heart, and Sara revelling in the feeling of him holding her as they danced.

"You like the song?" Grissom finally blurted, and Sara glanced up at him, a smile plastered across her face.

"Sure," she said, though she hadn't really been listening.

"Yeah," Grissom responded. "It's… kind of nice."

Wondering if he was just saying that to try and get a conversation started or if he really did like the song, Sara cocked her head and listened. Her eyes widened as the soft notes were suddenly joined by a voice.

_Sick and tired of this world  
There's no more air  
Trippin' over myself  
Goin' nowhere  
Waiting  
Suffocating  
No direction  
I took a dive _

And on the way down  
I saw you  
And you saved me  
From myself  
And I won't forget  
The way you loved me  
And on the way down  
I almost fell right through  
But I held onto you

"You know," he murmured, ducking his head so his forehead rested against hers, "I've never been very good at… expressing myself… so this is… what I wanted to – needed - to say to you."

Sara swallowed hard, feeling tears building in her eyes, and she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his in a long kiss.

_I've been wondering why  
It's only me  
Have you always been inside  
Waiting to breathe  
It's alright  
Sunlight  
On my face  
I wake up and yeah, I'm alive_

When she finally pulled back, burying her face in his chest, he allowed his chin to rest on her hair, and they continued to sway slowly to the song.

"You saved my life, Sara," he whispered. "You are… everything to me."

_  
'Cause on the way down  
I saw you  
And you saved me from myself  
And I won't forget  
The way you loved me  
And on the way down  
I almost fell right through  
But I held onto you_

_I was so afraid  
Of going under  
But now  
The weight of the world  
Feels like nothing, no, nothing  
Down, down, down  
You're all I wanted  
Down, down, down  
You're all I needed  
Down, down, down  
You're all I wanted  
You're all I needed _

"You saved my life, Sara… you are… everything to me." His words brought the tears back to her eyes, and she clung to him more tightly.

"I love you," she sobbed, and Grissom stroked her hair as for the first time he was able to hold her, and reassure her, and whisper that he loved her over and over again.

_And I won't forget the way you loved me  
_

"I won't ever forget." He repeated the lyrics of the song fiercely in her ear, brushing away her tears, as though trying to banish any doubts she might have about his ability to stick this thing through to the end. He needn't have, though; collecting herself she sighed, and relaxed once again into his hold.

"I know," she murmured. Then she gave a wet smile. "I won't let you forget."

"Good," he replied softly, and he closed his eyes and lost himself in the words and the feelings and the meaning of their first dance.

_All that I wanted  
All that I needed now  
Oh on the way down  
I saw you  
And you saved me  
From myself  
And I won't forget  
The way you loved me  
And on the way down  
I almost fell right through  
But I held onto you _

Down, down, down  
But I held onto you  
Down, down, down  
But I held onto you

"I'll always, _always_ be here for you to hold on to, Grissom. I promise."

The End


End file.
